


But Not Out of Mind

by Francophilly



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 46,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francophilly/pseuds/Francophilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hon Phryne Fisher and DI Jack Robinson have gone their separate ways but what happens when each is out of sight?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

D I Jack Robinson took the telephone call from Russell Street. A re-investigation of a case that needed sensitivity but determination. Assistant Commissioner O'Rourke had deemed Jack Robinson the man for the task. Jack groaned involuntarily but then felt strangely satisfied. An investigation away from Melbourne in a picturesque country town, away from the paper work, away from the minor crimes that seemed to be occupying his station’s attention over recent months - drunkenness, vagrancy and petty larcenies; away from distractions. An interesting case although he would want to make it a successful one. He might even have some free time, he might be able to catch up on some reading, go for walks, or write some poetry. The gardens, woodlands, vineyards around Yarrawonga would certainly be worth exploring.  There would be neither need nor the time to return to Melbourne on days' off.

Senior Sargent Livingstone from Flinders Street Station would join City South Station as acting inspector; that wouldn't go down well, but Collins and the others would cope. He was gruff, even bad-tempered, with what appeared to be a permanent chip on his shoulder; perhaps having been an acting inspector too many times or disillusioned by too many concerns that his cases were not quite concluded as they should have been. He would have a chance to prove himself this time which would not only be to his own advantage but to DI Robinson’s men.

And then there was the thought of Miss Fisher. Was she not the first, the immediate response to the telephone call, the cause of the unconscious sigh? He hadn't seen her for so long. Not since the Bernard murder case, since that lovely after party at her home: not a celebration per se, more a release of tension and opportunity to relax. There had been no excuses since then for a visit, not an investigation that needed her expertise and her intuition, her exciting, exhilarating, delightful interpretation. He hadn't found a reason to call in at her home, and she hadn't found a reason to invite or send for him. She didn't want him the way he wanted her, she never would.  She had made that abundantly clear and now he must simply remove himself from her sphere of influence, from that enticing aura that seemed to surround her, that entranced and frustrated him. So to Yarrawonga he would go, to absorb himself in this case, to remove himself from the maddening surrounds in which there was no peace, there never would be while his being was so caught up in hers.

He dutifully called in Collins and the others who were on duty and told them the news. He would be heading off in a few days, as soon as the cases he was finalising could be delegated or finished and filed away, and others handed over to Livingstone. The men looked disappointed but more Jack thought, from the announcement of who their new boss would be until his return, than any concern over his own absence. How long would he be away they wanted to know. Jack wasn't sure, certainly weeks but maybe longer, he couldn't say.

He headed home that evening with some anxiety as to what lay ahead: the case would be taxing. A successful local grower had been murdered on his property and a relatively short investigation had found an itinerant worker responsible. The township was relieved as the guilty party was as unpopular as the victim had been popular, had been an unpleasant temporary citizen of the town, and had left many a grower breathing a sigh of relief that his daughter would be safe and his son away from mellifluous influence. But some evidence had emerged recently that seemed to suggest that the arrest and subsequent conviction had been overly hasty, less than thorough, and based on far too close a relationship between constabulary, prosecution and judgement. DI Jack Robinson’s presence would not be welcome in the town no doubt, endeavouring to test what was, for the locals, a satisfactory outcome to a disagreeable case. Still, Inspector Robinson was not deterred. He was too experienced, dedicated and thorough to be influenced by town’s folk with a grudge against a peripatetic fruit picker.

The next few days passed very quickly with much to arrange at work as well as at home. There was his usual thoroughness in tidying up case files and ensuring the station was left ready for the new boss, and then there was his home to prepare. His housekeeper, a neighbour, who did for him on a regular basis, would collect and forward his mail, water his beloved garden and keep an eye on the house. So within three days of the telephone call from headquarters he was on his way – a half-day’s drive of some one hundred and seventy miles.


	2. Chapter 2

In the Hon Phryne Fisher’s home, the mistress of the house was, as was her want, indulging in a late rise. As she lay in her satin surrounds, the familiar sound of Constable Collins’ voice downstairs roused her attention. She flung on a dark oriental silk gown and went down the stairs with more vigour than her morning state normally allowed and opened the door to the kitchen to see the beaming smile of the enthusiastic constable seated at the kitchen table. She was immediately disappointed that this appeared to be a social visit, not one that required the presence of his superior.  
  
“Good morning Hugh”, Phryne beamed, trying desperately not to look and sound disappointed.  
  
“Good morning Miss,” Constable Collins returned, rising to his feet. He was in uniform, his helmet placed neatly on the table. “I am early for my shift so I thought I’d call in before work to invite Dotty to the pictures tonight, the talkies.”  
  
“Of course Hugh, how nice!” Miss Fisher beamed brightly. “And how is work? … Tiring?”  
  
“We’ve been busy tidying up ready for the new inspector so …”  
  
“What do you mean the new inspector? What has happened to Inspector Robinson?” queried Phryne, with those who knew her best seeing the colour drain from her face and hearing the slight shrillness in her voice, which she was endeavouring to keep casual with only faint interest.  
  
Collins explained the temporary arrangement: “… And we are to have an acting inspector. We know him, Senior Sergeant Livingstone. I’m not sure that you would get on with him Miss, he’s…” Hugh hesitated, “he’s rather short-tempered.”  
  
“Oh dear, poor Hugh,” comforted Dot. “Never mind, you can tell us all about him.”  
  
Phryne wished Hugh a good day and took the cup of tea proffered by Mr Butler to her parlour. She placed the tea on the side table and sat in her favourite chair by the window, her knees tucked up under her chin, her bob awry, tousled from sleep, her arms hugging her legs tightly. She was the picture of earnest contemplation and concern. The silk of her soft cream negligee shimmered in folds in the dappled morning light contrasting the shining black of her robe. Her mind was disturbed, her stomach churning. Why would he not tell her? Why did he not say goodbye? Where was he going? How long would he be away? Then she reverted to blaming herself. Why had she not invited him around for dinner, for a drink? Why had she not called in at the station? And crushingly, she knew why. She had begun to care, to feel, to need and she had refused to succumb to sensations so foreign to her credo, which threatened her doctrine, her vehemently stated way of life. And now he was gone for who knows how long. Perhaps she may never see him again – he might be promoted or sent away. Would that be so bad? And deep down she knew the answer. Of course it would matter.


	3. Chapter 3

A half-day’s drive took DI Robinson to Yarrawonga in north-western Victoria, on the river Murray, a town surrounded by expanses of eucalypts, farms and vineyards. He had been booked into a local bed and breakfast, which turned out to be a large, converted homestead, well-proportioned, tempered on both storeys by timber columns and verandas on all sides. The property, Hogan’s Reach, had belonged to one of the local land owners, who had left it to his niece; but he had lead an extravagant bachelor’s life, well beyond his means, and May Glover had become titleholder of a house and land encumbered by debt. Her marriage to a local labourer had been ended by a tractor accident shortly before she and her young daughter took up residence in the homestead. She had inherited her uncle’s talent for enterprise but none of his indulgence, so she had sold most of the land to neighbouring farmers, paid his debts and converted the large, attractive home to a business. Hogan’s Reach was set up as a private club, with the ground floor of the stately home now housing a bar, restaurant and tea rooms, and accommodation on the first floor. The private club status allowed the business to circumvent liquor laws that restricted hours of service, and so became the local watering hole with the bar well-patronised in the evening. Adjacent, dark wood-panelled rooms were set for dining, afternoon teas, and large rooms on the first floor dressed for accommodation. The property’s outhouses were converted to makeshift dormitories and canteen during the harvest, welcomed by the throngs of itinerant workers who invaded the town, neighbouring vineyards and farmlands. Her business had thrived for a decade now, busy during the harvest and slow but steady in the off season with loyal patronage of local workers and businessmen for drinks, local gentry in the dining rooms, and local ladies in the tea rooms.  
  
DI Robinson arrived early on Sunday afternoon when the town and everyone in it were quiet. Jack was immediately surprised and delighted with his new surrounds. His room was located at one end of the upper storey, with French windows giving onto the wide turned veranda and full view of the fields that sloped away lush and green to the river’s edge. The former owner kept a large library, and for her sense, his niece had kept it as it was, perhaps hoping for an upturn in interest in leather-bound collections of Shakespeare, poetry, 18th and 19th century novels, encyclopaedias, and reference books. As the library adjoined Jack’s room, it was perfectly placed as his study for the length of his stay.  
  
DI Robinson’s presence was not a drawcard for May Glover’s business. Once the town’s people became acquainted with the facts - that the case was to be re-opened, and a detective from the capital brought in to investigate, local prejudices were, even before the Inspector’s arrival, decidedly against him. But May Glover was a canny woman and she could see the advantages of having the detective as her guest. For a start Victoria Police would be supplying her with a regular income for her largest room with access to the study and full board, at her quietest time, and his presence may require others from Melbourne to fill her rooms over the course of the investigation; and then there was Isa. Isabelle was nearing twenty and May was keen to find her daughter a suitable husband. She was sweet and pretty with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes, rather simple in her thinking but kind and willing. She could be, and had been, easily taken advantage of. An unfortunate liaison with a local had left her pregnant. Isa was kept away from the town with relatives of her father in the city for the duration of her confinement before giving birth to a little girl, and the delivering doctor and town solicitor had arranged for her to be adopted. But such events are hard to quash and Isa was considered tainted and unsuitable for any young man whose position and standing May now required; her status as a prosperous businesswoman, exaggerated in her own mind, gave her a sense of entitlement perhaps not shared by the town’s establishment. May also had lingering doubts about whether the incident that left her daughter encumbered was the outcome of a single liberty taken, or whether her daughter had a more dubious reputation with being free with her favours and idle with her virtue. Conceivably someone from outside could take her away to the city, and that would present the perfect solution. So it was an enthusiastic welcome that met DI Robinson’s arrival.  
  
Mrs Glover showed Jack to his room and ensured his access to the library would be undisturbed. As his room lead onto the veranda she had set an outdoor table and chairs and encouraged him to take breakfast there and an evening drink, whenever it suited. She had two purposes for this: it would keep her guest away from her local clientele and she would ensure Isa gave him attentive service. She was pleased that the detective seemed to accept her suggestions and complimented her on his accommodation.  
  
May Glover was determined to find out the marital status of this handsome young man, hoping her plans would come to fruition by the end of the detective’s investigations. Whilst not an overly garrulous woman she was friendly and forthcoming, so contrived to find the answer in a way she considered subtle, and only succeeded in revealing what it was her intention to conceal.  
  
“You are very welcome to use my parlour should you need to have private dinners inspector.”  
  
“Thank you Mrs Glover, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Jack replied. “I will be able to have meals in the dining room or on the veranda.”  
  
“I meant if you would like to entertain your wife if she comes up from Melbourne, in private, of an evening. The veranda is yours to use of course, but if you wanted to ensure your privacy,” Mrs Glover pursued.  
  
“That is kind of you. I shall keep it in mind.” Jack sensed the real question and avoided the answer.  
  
“Will you be joined at all while you are here?” Mrs Glover was not to be denied just yet.  
  
“I hope I won’t be here too long, although it really is a lovely spot. I will let you know if any further accommodation is required should I need to call on anyone else.” Mrs Glover was temporarily defeated and at any rate, there was still time and Isa could ask more directly and get away with it.  
  
“We serve dinner downstairs in the dining room at 7. My daughter Isa will bring you some afternoon tea and see if you would like a hand with anything, or a pre-dinner drink. You must be tired after your long drive.”  
  
Jack unpacked his things and looked around. It was true; it was a charming room with a delightful aspect. The rich dark furnishings and damask fabrics contrasted the soft greens and greys of the eucalypts outside. It could be quite romantic he mused. If only Phryne were here. He stopped immediately, mentally slapping himself for the indulgence. You are here to escape her, not to fantasise he told himself with some vehemence, and strode defiantly into the library. It smelt musty, of paper and leather and wood, and he soon settled himself into a comfortably worn chair and took out the briefing files that had been sent to him.  
  
A faint knock an hour or so later and a cheerful smile peered around the door, carrying a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea.  
  
“You must be Isa. Thank you.” Jack returned the smile.  
  
“Would you like me to unpack your things or prepare anything for you?” Her face glowed in the rather dim light of the library and Jack sensed the faint waft of lavender. She was neatly dressed beneath her apron, with proportioned curves; her hands seemed to linger on the side table where she placed his meal.  
  
“No, not at the moment. But I’ll have a drink before dinner - whiskey. I know it’s Sunday but I’ve had a long drive and I think I’ll need one.”  
  
“Certainly sir. We are having a roast tonight. We think it makes our guests feel at home on Sunday evening.”  
  
“Do you have many guests staying?” Jack wanted to find out as much as possible about his new household.  
  
“No, not at the moment. It isn’t the season. It’s much busier during the harvest and the picking season. We have the barns full then too. But there will be people in for dinner from the town tonight. But staying, for now it is just you and a couple on holidays. It’s nice here for couples.” She looked questioningly at him.  
  
“Yes, I can imagine,” he responded and looked back at his notes. She took the gesture for what it was intended and excused herself and left the room.  
  
He returned to his room to dress for dinner a few hours later and felt himself rather looking forward to Isa’s return with his whiskey which he took on the veranda. He rather liked that she was making a fuss of him – her dimpled smile and flashing white teeth offered him his clothes washed or pressed, his bed turned down, a morning wakeup call, it was simply for him to ask.  
  
Dinner was very good with a number of tables occupied for the Sunday evening roast. It was evident who made up the local establishment and who the bed and breakfast guests - with a few glances shot DI Robinson’s way over the course of the meal. He didn’t linger at the end and nodded in acknowledgement at the other diners who looked his way when he left. He almost felt he could be on holidays along with the other paying guests, and vaguely wondered at the expense this accommodation may be costing Russell Street.


	4. Chapter 4

Phryne had taken on a case for a local business woman. She had had little enthusiasm for such detective work lately and had only agreed to it at the earnest entreaty of Dr Mac. She believed she was close to finalising it, and today was to set about its closing stages. Miss Drabble, a local fabric shop owner had been concerned about a downturn in business that she could not explain. The orders of fabrics had been increasing for some time, clientele was growing yet income was steadily dropping, and she suspected that her long-serving and trusted employee, Mr Roberts, might be the source of fraudulent behaviour. Whilst keeping him under close watch, she hadn’t been able to uncover anything. Phyrne had gone in to investigate undercover as a shop decorator, to do a thorough tidy and clean of the whole premises – unstacking and re-stacking shelves to clean them, re-align fabrics by colour and texture, and coming up with a bright fresh shop and window display. This allowed her to be anywhere in the shop she chose and to keep an eye on how the customers were served and Mr Roberts’ interaction with them.  
  
Over the course of the past weeks she had uncovered what she felt was the source of the fraudulent conduct, and it was indeed at the hand of the trusted employee. Several local fashion houses sourced their fabrics through Miss Drabble’s store. One in particular had an assistant who placed the orders regularly and had drawn Phyrne’s attention. Her practice was to place orders one day then return to collect them the next. Her relationship with Mr Roberts, Phryne observed straight away, was furtive when Phryne was around and Mr Roberts too seemed ill at ease and cautious in her presence.  
  
Phryne ensured that after hours she copied the orders from this fashion house, and then checked the yardage on each roll of the fabric ordered, indicated on a secure tag attached to the cardboard inner tube. When an order of 10 yards of cream satin was taken from the roll, the tag was adjusted by hand with the total less the 10 yards cut and the date, so that it was easy to see when new orders needed to be placed to re-stock and which fabrics were popular and selling more quickly than others. The next day, once Mr Roberts had cut the fabric and packaged the order, Phryne checked the yardage left on the role. It was a very tedious process to unravel the entire remaining spools and measure them, but that is precisely what she and her client had done. Sure enough each roll of fabric which had an order from the fashion house contained less fabric than the balance stated on the tag. Mr Roberts was charging for the 10 yards ordered but supplying more.  
  
Phryne’s next port of call had been the fashion house itself whose assistant seemed to be in cahoots with Mr Roberts. She had contacts with Maison Fleurie so she had easy entrée into the house in question, less established, offering copies of fashionable designs and prêt-a-porter at reasonable prices. The assistant had access to the cutting floor and work rooms, and Phryne had soon established that she also had the job of cutting the fabrics for the various orders and preparing them for the pattern makers and seamstresses. She also boxed and packaged finished products for clients, sending those that required delivery.  
  
If the fashion house was billed for the fabrics ordered, where were the additional lengths going? Phryne checked the dispatch lists against the House’s clients and sure enough a name and address in Collingwood came up as in regular receipt of boxes from the dispatch that did not match the name of a client. Whilst this on its own wasn’t unusual, the regularity and location were.  
  
Phryne drove to the address at a time she knew both Mr Roberts and his seeming accomplice would be well and truly occupied at work. The house was in an area not far from the boot factories, single fronted with a little strip of veranda across its narrow frontage, with a door on one hinge to the right. It looked dilapidated and in need of paint and repair. There was noise within, the shouts and shrieks of children and dogs barking. A rather dirty young boy came to door and simply looked at Phryne, neither asking what she wanted nor offering anything other than a stare.  
  
“Is your mother in?” asked Phryne brightly. He simply shook his head. “Or your big sister?” He nodded and looked behind him. Phryne stepped into a narrow passage which ran down to a kitchen with an earth floor and a one-fire stove. Through the back door she could see a yard with out-houses that she assumed were for washing, bodies as well as clothes. A girl not much older than Janey sat surrounded by younger children – toddlers as well as a baby, with the screams of older children coming from the yard. She was barefoot and dirty like her siblings.  
  
“Hello!” said Phryne to the rather alarmed girl, who immediately scowled at her.  
  
“What d’yer want?”  
  
“I have a box that’s gone missing and I was wondering whether it was delivered here by accident? The proprietors of the house making me a dress believe there was a mix up with an order of fabrics.”  
  
“Not ‘ere.” said the girl and turned away.  
  
Phryne opened her purse, “I am sure your younger brothers and sisters would like to buy an ice-cream this afternoon and I think you deserve something for all the work you do while your parents are away.”  
  
She took out a note and offered the girl the two pounds, more money than she would have ever seen and more than her mother would earn in a week at the factory. She went to snatch it but Phryne was too quick, “Could I check those boxes?” The girl heaved the whinging infant onto her hip and led Phryne and the gaggle of children back down the passage into a room that seemed to double as a bedroom for a countless number of people – with the floor covered in thin mattresses and piles of worn blankets and shreds of sheets. Stacked against one wall was a pile of boxes from the fashion house. Phryne made out she was searching for one in particular, and, after opening several claimed one as her own.  
  
“Here it is. Thank you.” she said and as she left, handed the girl the note.  
  
Poor things, thought Phryne, caught up in such petty crimes so young. Clearly the house was used to dispatch fabrics to willing buyers, with Mr Roberts and his assistant sharing in the spoils. She wondered what, if anything, the household in Collingwood got from it. She drove back home to telephone her client.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning after his arrival saw DI Robinson heading to the station to access the full set of police files, court documents and scene of crime materials. He was rather surprised to be most obviously ignored on arrival.  
  
“Can I help you sir?” enquired the young officer at the desk after studiously examining some notes for a good few minutes, and without looking up.  
  
“I’m DI Robinson and I’m here to see DI Humphreys please,” said Jack assuming he would have been anticipated.  
  
“He’s not available at the moment sir. Would you care to come back later?” The young constable appeared almost embarrassed delivering his response, deliberately looking away.  
  
“No I wouldn’t.” replied Jack. “He is expecting me and I have work to do. Please let him know I am here.”  
  
“I am afraid I cannot interrupt him sir. So perhaps you may care to wait? I can’t say how long he will be.”  
  
“Please show me to his office immediately and I will wait outside it.” DI Robinson moved to the counter, designed as all police station counters, and went to lean over it to open the hatch on the office side. The young constable attempted to stop him. “Constable, I am working in the station and as such I am your senior officer, please let me in. And your name?” He was youth personified with pale, blemished skin, and ill-fitting glasses. DI Robertson’s authority, tone and demeanour were not to be countered. This was someone who meant what he said.  
  
“Yes sir, it’s McKenzie sir,” his response almost inaudible, and led the way to a rather surprised DI Humphrey’s office. The man himself was behind his desk, leaning back in a chair, smoking a cigarette, quite alone.  
  
“DI Robinson insisted on seeing you sir,” mumbled the rather shame-faced McKenzie to Humphrey’s glare.  
  
“Thank you McKenzie,” dismissed Jack advancing towards the desk and proffering his hand. It was shaken unwillingly by his counterpart who felt that his tack of ensuring the upper hand in this investigation from the outset had not gone as well as planned. Jack sat, uninvited, in the chair opposite and continued, “I know this must be difficult for you as it is for me to be brought in to a case like this. But of course it is in both our interests for me to do my work with your assistance as quickly and as effectively as possible.”  
  
Humphreys almost sneered, “I may not have men immediately at your disposal. But I’ll show you to the office we have allocated to you – we are very cramped here, so I hope it will satisfy.” Jack glanced around Humphrey’s own rather comfortable office, considerably larger than his own at City South. His colleague led the way to what only could be described as a storeroom, filled with shelving, filing cabinets and boxes, with a small desk and chair in one corner.  
  
  
“Perhaps we should talk through the case in your office,” said Jack, refusing to be drawn into the obvious determination to make his stay as uncomfortable as possible.  
Humphreys handed Jack a rather thin file and spoke to the contents. “James Middleton was shot at close range with his own hunting rifle. There were multiple finger prints on the weapon, but we had them examined and obviously we were able to discount those of Middleton himself, but there were other prints we could isolate. We found cartridge cases, a scrap of shirt fabric and a cigarette butt near the body.  
  
“It was during the harvest so we had lots of workers around. They come from everywhere. And since the war we have had the place crawling with foreigners, Italians, Greeks, you name it. Can’t hear the King’s English sometimes. ” Jack wondered if the King would recognise it if he did hear it. “Young bloke, Iti, had pestered Middleton for work and James knocked him back.” Jack mentally noted that Humphreys used the deceased’s first name. “He was a stirrer. Got all the labourers wound up to demand higher wages, tried to rally support for a strike. Couldn’t do an honest day’s work if he tried, lazy git. Thought because he came from Italy he was Valentino, God’s gift, and tried it on with all the local girls. The shirt material and cigarette butt had clear links to him, as did the finger prints on the rifle. He’d had a set to with James a few times. James was a real gentleman and wouldn’t put up with his arrogance, his rousing the troops, and had him shut down - and see where that got him. The town hasn’t recovered yet. It was an open and shut case; one of my easiest. No idea why they’re involving you in this, a waste of your time and everyone else’s.”  
  
Jack knew Russell Street’s concerns revealed otherwise: the possibility of a crime scene left unsecured for too long, an arrest that did not follow due process and a court-appointed barrister ill-equipped to defend a murder case.  
  
“I’ll need to see the full case files, the scene of crime photos, the finger prints and the other materials. And I’d like to speak with the officers on the scene originally, and those that led the case obviously. And I’d like the contacts of the witnesses, those called to court and anyone else involved who might be useful in re-examining all the facts. You have some men assigned to my investigation?”  
  
Humphreys sighed, and with a look of mock concern shook his head. The following hours and the next few days were as frustrating as the first, with a seemingly endless stream of excuses: the confusion over the date of DI Robinson’s arrival meant documentation had not been sourced; the files and scene of crime evidence were in a secure storage off site; officers involved in the original investigation on various kinds of leave, witness contact details not at hand or out of date. Jack needed to take stock.


	6. Chapter 6

Phryne Fisher was feeling out of sorts. It was nothing she could put her finger on. Just a feeling of restlessness, a lack of energy, as if there were a mid-summer heat wave that enervated and fatigued the body and mind. She couldn’t account for its origin but it had been creeping up on her for a weeks. Nothing seemed to interest her and no one seemed to be able to distract her the way they normally would. Mac sat with her in her parlour and obligingly took her pulse and her temperature. “There is nothing wrong with you my dear that a good evening with your Inspector would not fix,” frowned her friend.  
  
“Not possible Mac,” said Phryne rather gloomily. “He is not here and doesn’t seem to have any interest in contacting me.” She sighed and explained his absence.  
  
Mac looked at her critically. “So perhaps you should go to him? It is not as if you have anything of great importance to keep you here over the next week or so. A trip away may be just what this doctor has ordered!”  
  
“I don’t even know where he is. Somewhere in the country. Anyhow I don’t think I could just turn up uninvited. He didn’t even announce he was going or say goodbye and I hadn’t seen him for quite a while before that. Everything I know is from Hugh. I can’t just waltz into another inspector’s station and say I’m working with Jack. And I have the Miss Drabble’s case, I can’t let her down.”  
  
“Finalise Beatrice Drabble’s case – you told me it’s all but solved. Phryne Fisher, this is simply not your style. When have you ever let an obstacle or two stand in your way? Go to him. Stop denying yourself, and him.”  
  
“I don’t think I can Mac.”  
  
“What is it that you are so afraid of?”  
  
Phryne looked at her close friend for a few moments before answering, “Myself.”  
  
“What do you mean? That you are so protective of your way of life that you won’t allow anyone to intrude? Consider yourself ten years’ hence - Dot won’t be here forever, she’ll be bringing up a family before you know it, Janey will have left home, your string of lovers will be just that. What then? Where will you find true companionship, meaningful companionship?”  
  
“I can’t allow someone else to take any part of me away, to compromise what I am. I have to be me.”  
  
“And when has Jack Robinson ever made that demand of you?” said Mac quietly but forcefully.  
  
“Never.”  
  
Mac got up to leave and smiled. She let Mr Butler see her out. “A trip to the country is what she needs Mr Butler – just letting you know so that you can be prepared,” she winked at him.  
  
Phryne languished on the sofa in her parlour leafing through the newspaper without really reading the contents until she came across the section that always caught her eye, the court reports and police rounds: a rural case being reopened with an investigation headed by DI J Robinson from City South. Her stomach lurched. Her Jack. She read on. James Middleton murdered on the property he owned and ran, had deep family roots in the area, was well respected, with a wife and young children. His family had been on the land for several generations and he was considered generous, hard-working and genial. He was very much part of the town’s social life and was good company. No-one could have borne him a grudge or wanted to see him harmed. A young labourer from a nearby farm had been convicted. He was a migrant, had a strong personality, a known agitator and a talent for getting into trouble. But now there appeared to be case for a miscarriage of justice.  
  
Phryne suddenly felt a little better. Perhaps a trip to the country might be exactly what she needed.


	7. Chapter 7

The box room at the station proved ill-suited as an office, as he imagined. After a frustrating week, several telephone calls and telegrams convinced Russell Street that he would be better off in the library at Hogan’s Reach. He could relocate files temporarily and have space to work and, if necessary, meet with witnesses. He had access to a telephone and the local post office or a trip to the police station would provide him with other means of communication. He also ensured that if he required the services of men who had not been struck down with illnesses or away to tend relatives in dire need, then Russell Street would provide him with assistance.  
  
So on the Friday evening, he settled in to his new office in the library. Mrs Glover seemed delighted that the Inspector was to spend so much more time in her establishment and used the changed circumstances to probe. She was particularly well placed to have known the key protagonists and their circumstances as customers and business associates. From early in his stay May Glover’s questions and DI Robinson’s answers revealed only one of their intent - Jack learned from her questions and Mrs Glover received none of the intelligence she anticipated in his answers.  
  
“How are you progressing then on the case?” she queried, “Such a nasty business for everyone. I knew him of course, Mr Middleton, and that young Sergio. He was staying here, for my sins.”  
  
“Isa mentioned you have converted the barn and outhouses for the itinerants during the harvest. Is that how Sergio Del Vecchio came to be staying here?” As he had been speaking Isa came in with his evening whiskey.  
  
“Yes indeed and miserable about it I have been,” continued Isa’s mother. “If I hadn't had the bed to offer, none of this awful business would have happened. Couldn't find a nicer, more honourable man than James Middleton, a real gentleman. But that Sergio, what a piece of work. There wasn't a one that didn’t think him a trouble-maker.” Isa dropped the glass onto the table rather more heavily than she anticipated and apologised. “Silly girl, be more careful!” cried her mother and in contradiction continued to Jack, “She is a good girl Inspector and such a help. Knows this business backwards and never has a day off in the peak season. Couldn’t run this place without her.” She then seemed to think better of what she had just said and changed course again, “She’ll be well positioned to set up a business anywhere with the skills she has, she could run a home standing on her head I think.” Jack mused at the thought of Isa‘s acrobatics.  
  
“If there’s anything you need to know, you only have to ask Inspector. If you need me to give you my views I’m happy to give them. There would not be many people with the knowledge I have of all the details. Anything at all, I’m sure I could set you straight.”  
  
Jack thanked her and decided to keep his options open, “I would appreciate that very much. I am sure that I will have many questions when I have made my way through the documents. And you too Isa, I suppose you have your views?” Mrs Glover glowed and left the room. Isa looked embarrassed and awkward, smiled nervously and nodded. “So, did you know Sergio, Isa?” queried Jack quietly. He observed her closely but deliberately looked distracted.  
  
She hesitated, embarrassed, “Well yes of course, I get to know all the young workers who stay here. I have to help serve the meals and do the laundry.”  
  
“And was he as handsome as I’ve heard? Like an Italian film star?” he asked her kindly.  
  
“That’s what everyone said. They are quite forward the migrants and he was too. He’d always make comments in Italian and wink at all the girls and whistle, and look you up and down. Not like the local boys, they are so shy compared with the foreigners. Our local boys don’t like the way they flirt with all the girls. They think the migrants have come to take us all away.”  
  
Jack decided to take a tack to try to provoke what he wanted to know “And was Sergio as bad as some say?”  
  
She looked shy “No, not really I don’t think. He was just different being a migrant. We get a lot of them, especially in the harvest. He didn't speak English very much but he was very determined and he could get people to understand what he wanted. The farmers assumed he just wanted more money for the workers but he would just get frustrated about expressing himself in English. He was very passionate. And some of the farmers pay very low wages.”  
  
“And what about Mr Middleton?” Jack pressed, “Did Sergio and Mr Middleton not get on at all? Were they too different?”  
  
Isa looked distinctly uncomfortable and looked as though she didn't want to answer at all, “Not sure. I really don’t know. I have to go.”  
  
“Of course. Thank you. Good night.”  
  
Her mother’s inquisitiveness ensured Jack kept the files he needed locked in a police-supplied safe relocated to the library. He looked at the paper work ahead of him, put his favourite Mozart opera on the gramophone, and took his first sip of whiskey. He considered her reactions, was she self-conscious about the case or about his questioning? She was indeed very pretty and sweet, and he liked her. But the more he saw of her, the more another image was conjured in his mind, an image defined by opposites. One’s mass of blond curls and the dark, straight bob of the other; one’s sun-tanned complexion and the other’s alabaster glow; one’s curves, the other’s slenderness; one’s superficial simplicity and desire to please, the other’s flirtatiousness, cleverness and depth. No matter how much he scolded himself for his feelings, the more they crept back. Attempts to plunge into his work for the next few hours found him talking through the details with her and trying to see things from her perspective; distraction in the opera made him feel every agonising aria sang for him, the forlorn victim of a callous lover. It was no good. He took out a sheet of writing paper:

Hogan’s Reach  
Yarrawonga  
Friday, 7 March

Dear Miss Fisher  
My work finds me in this very pretty country town to investigate a murder case that the courts have deemed had to be reopened. It is interesting and intriguing, with a town closing in to protect the original verdict, and seeing me very much as a pariah. The officers at the local station are doing as much as possible to hinder my work and I scarcely venture out into the town in case I am lynched!  
  
Fortunately I am comfortably accommodated and enjoy very much my rooms in this rather stately converted homestead. I have not only the considerable library where I have set up my own investigation bureau, but a room which gives onto a wide veranda with gentle views to the river. It has become quite a haven; away from the glares of the locals, I can attempt to immerse myself in work, then divert myself reading poetry or listening to the record collection on the gramophone here in the library, or wandering around the quite ample gardens. I could almost be on holidays if it weren't for the frustrations of the case.  
  
I am also lucky in having an incredibly attentive mother and daughter team who owns the place. I suspect that the mother is either a frustrated private detective, such is her interest in the case, or has designs on me as a son-in-law and guarantees her conversations with me extol her daughter’s virtues at every possible juncture, then ensures she sends her to me with offers of creature comforts which only provide me constant interruptions to my work. Both are keen to know whether my wife might join me and as much as they press, I resist and feign ignorance of where their lines of questioning are leading. I wonder that they do not consider a detective able to identify such naïve inquiries.  
  
I didn’t think I would miss my colleagues in the rather drab station at City South, but the change of environment and personnel with it has even shed new light on Collins I am surprised to say. I am sorely tempted to send for him. I spoke to him on the telephone earlier in the week and he mentioned that he has been to your home on a few occasions recently to see Miss Williams and to visit the pictures with her. I hope he passed on my best wishes to you. I am sorry I didn't see you before I left Melbourne and I think of you often on this case, particularly as there seems no-one prepared to cooperate at all, let alone offer their assistance. I could do with some-one even scolding or contradicting me, but preferably cajoling and accommodating.  
  
I hope you and all your household are well and that before too long I will be able to relate all when I return to Melbourne. But until then I remain, Miss Fisher, yours affectionately,  
  
Jack Robinson


	8. Chapter 8

Phryne read the letter three or four times until she knew its content by heart. She folded it and held it to her, as if this might bring the writer closer. It was late Monday morning and she felt herself wondering how Jack may have spent the weekend since writing the letter. To him she must go! How fortunate she had completed her investigation satisfactorily for Miss Drabble. The thought of the trip excited and invigorated her. Dot and Mr Butler would enjoy an excursion she was sure and it would not take long to pack their things and be on their way that very afternoon.  
  
Mr Butler was indeed delighted with the idea, with a cousin of his late wife located in the area, in Bundalong where she ran the local store. He duly booked their rooms at Hogan’s Reach and under his own name as his mistress instructed, and began preparations to set the house in order for their absence, summoning Bert and Cec to ensure they kept an eye on things. Dot was a little more sceptical but as it turned out this was more at the thought that she would be in a car for many hours, driven at some speed by Miss Fisher. She wanted to let Hugh know that they would be away but Miss Fisher was quite insistent that she could let Hugh know once they had arrived safely. Phryne did not want DI Robinson to have any inkling of their appearance, let alone this mother and daughter duo with designs on her Jack! For all this couple of would-be vultures should know, the Butler family were booking rooms for a short holiday in the area. The rest, well the rest was for her and Jack to determine.  
  
The day passed very quickly and Mr Butler and Dot were happy with their mistress’s obvious animation and excitement at the trip but they both knew better than to remark upon it. They set off in the afternoon after lunch, with a planned stop for supper with Mr Butler’s cousin, and arriving at their destination in the late evening.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack wondered again and again whether he should have sent the letter. It revealed too much, and why had he signed it off the way he had? Perhaps she was glad to be rid of his presence in her home. She would have her usual string of men to entertain and amuse her. She would think him pathetic. Throwing himself into work was required.  
  
The weekend had seen some progress. He had organised the files that had been made available to him, and looked thoroughly through the scene of crime materials, and read through the entire criminal proceedings, accessed from the court documents with the prosecution and defence cases as well as witness statements. He had started to develop a comprehensive report with the timeline of events, and a list of people he must see. He now understood why an appeal had been successful.  
  
He retired to the library after dinner on Monday evening. He kept all documents in the library safe whenever he left for a walk around the grounds or a meal in the dining room downstairs but this evening, rather than reading his files, he looked through the shelves and chose a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets and sat at the desk. He opened the well-worn leather bound copy which fell open at Sonnet 18, revealing a favourite with someone else who had loved in some past place and time:  
  
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;  
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:  
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.  
  
He closed his eyes and repeated the verses in his head until Isa appeared with his nightly whiskey. He asked her to leave the decanter on the tray; it would save her coming in to top up his glass later in the evening. He would not hear of her protests and wished her good night. Attempting to continue the conversation, she offered: “There are some new guests arrived tonight.”  
  
Jack was interested: “Oh yes, who are they?”  
  
“It’s a family from the city come for a holiday, a couple and their daughter.” Interest was followed by disappointment.  
  
“I look forward to meeting them at dinner tomorrow then,” he said with little honesty in the remark. “Good night Isa.”  
  
“Good night sir. Would you like your bed turned down?”  
  
“No thank you.” Jack sounded almost gruff and realising this added “and thank you for your frankness the other evening.”  
  
“Frankness?”  
  
“Yes, when you told me about the people involved in the case. I appreciate it very much.” He sounded kinder and Isa blushed.  
  
He moved away from the desk and put a record on the gramophone taking his drink over to the window. He stood looking out at the dark night sky studded with stars, listening to the softness of the Schumann Lieder.


	10. Chapter 10

Mr Butler took charge of checking in to their rooms and bringing the luggage from the car. They had had a very pleasant trip, with a delightful stop with his wife’s cousin not an hour away. Miss Fisher, he knew, was keen to change and, he assumed, locate DI Robinson. He and Dot would ensure their mistress had everything she required then make themselves scarce. He dismissed the attentive Mrs Glover and ensured her they would look after themselves until morning, while casually ascertaining DI Robinson’s location in the homestead. With rooms on the upper floor only, it was not difficult to learn where the other guests were situated, or the library which was off limits due to “a special investigation taking place”.  
  
Phyrne had a bath and changed into a pair of smooth black velvet pants with a sheer organza blouse over a satin camisole. She slipped on some soft shoes, did her makeup carefully and fastened a diamond clip in her hair before giving herself a light spray of cologne. She found it hard to remain composed, and alarmed herself at the thought that he might not be about, or that he might be dallying with the daughter, or had suddenly returned to Melbourne…. Calm yourself, she said sternly, and stepped into the central vestibule off which the other rooms led. She knew where the library was located, after Mr Butler’s instructions.  
  
She approached the door which was slightly ajar and from which faint sounds of music emanated. She gently pushed it open and stood mesmerised at the sight. The light of the desk lamp illuminated its immediate surrounds, so that the rest of the room was in comparative darkness. Silhouetted against the window was Jack, his back to her, ignorant of her presence, any sound of her entrance disguised by the music. She stood motionless, taking in the image, aware only of the fierce pounding of her heart and terrified he would hear it. It had been so long and now here he was, here she was. She waited until the Lied on the gramophone reached its end then murmured softly: “Good evening Jack.”  
  
He turned quickly, suddenly and looked back into the darkness at the shape, so familiar, which owned that voice: “Phryne? … Phryne! ... Miss Fisher!” confusion turned to surprise, and in turn to delight in the space of several seconds. He stood momentarily motionless to control himself. He put down his glass, walked over towards her, his mind a whirl of feelings. Should he shake her hand, or kiss the back of it, or give a European-style kiss on each cheek? The decision was made for him the same instant: perhaps the combination of several glasses of whiskey, the gentle music, the muted light, her two hands held out to him, her eyes shining, a slight, ever so slight smile around her lips. He took both her hands and kissed each gently keeping his eyes fixed on hers, and pulled her towards him. She moved into him, resting her head against his shoulder, then his arms were around her, firmly. He lowered his lips to kiss the top of her head. At this she looked up at him, her lips inches from his, her eyes glowing. He kissed first her upper lip, then her lower lip, and felt her response. Phryne sensed a tingling through her body at his touch. They each responded from light and tender to a deep, lingering, passionate embrace. He caressed her back, then her arms, then held her cheeks. He wanted to tell her how much he loved and needed her but dared not in case it broke the spell so simply murmured “I’ve missed you Miss Fisher.” She looked at him with a mildly wicked grin, “The lengths you’ll go to Jack Robinson to tempt me into an investigation.”  
  
“Drink?” he suggested.  
  
He led her to the sofa by the window where the whiskey decanter stood on the tray. She sat down and looked to him to sit beside her. He poured two drinks and sat. She took her preferred pose, slipping off her shoes and curling her legs up on the sofa cushions, but as soon as he sat next to her, she leaned into him, nestling into his chest. He immediately moved one arm to embrace her, running his fingers through her hair as he did so.  
  
“One of my landladies said a Melbourne couple and their daughter had arrived.”  
  
“Well you didn’t expect me to give away our cover immediately, did you? And anyhow, I thought I might need to fight the landlady’s daughter for your attentions!”  
  
“So you’re here with Miss Williams and Mr Butler?”  
  
“Yes. They might be quite useful. I wouldn’t let Dot tell Hugh we were coming, but I’m sure she would be delighted if you had to send for him. And Mr Butler can ingratiate himself with the landlady and daughter and perhaps infiltrate the local clientele.”  
  
Jack agreed, “So it was worth tempting you here, and if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were jealous of the landlady’s daughter and had come to protect me.”  
  
“Well you do know me and of course I’m not jealous. She is very pretty though I must admit and she was very defensive when Mr Butler sought intelligence of your location. He was told that the library was most definitely off limits.”  
  
“Far be it from you to obey any instructions at all,” Jack responded, then added “but I’m glad you are so disobedient sometimes, especially this evening.” He paused and felt her snuggle closer into him. She told him what she had read in the paper and he went on and briefly outlined the investigation, the apparent open and shut case, the popular views of the victim and offender, the polarised interpretations of their status as property-owner and layabout, the xenophobia of the community. “It may be worth Miss Williams making young Isa a friend. I am not sure that mother and daughter haven’t more interest in my case than me. They seem very keen to know progress and Isa herself appeared quite uncomfortable with some conversation earlier on. Miss Williams could pry into her relationship with the protagonists perhaps.”  
  
Phryne frowned, “And what do we know of the victim? Is he as pure as snow?”  
  
“Apparently, …well according to everyone who insists on giving me their opinions. Isa seemed self-conscious when I probed a bit, so perhaps not quite so pure as everyone else insists.”  
  
“I think I will definitely have Dot befriend your Isa!” her fingers caressing the front of his shirt.  
  
“She’s not mine and you are not jealous remember Miss Fisher…”  
  
“Perhaps we could discuss it in the morning, when we’ve had a chance to sleep on things…” her voiced trailed away as she looked up at him with a playful look, undoing several buttons then slipping her hand inside his shirt, stroking the skin beneath. A deep groan emanated from somewhere deep within him. She stood up slowly, holding her arm out for him to take, and they wandered, arm in arm out of the library. Jack turned off the reading light on the desk as they walked past, locking the door behind them.  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter resolves some sexual tension to date unresolved in this version of the developing relationship between Phryne and Jack. Please omit it if you prefer not to read such a scene. I also don't think I'm very good at it (writing it).

Her room was the mirror opposite of his, but uncannily already reflected a very feminine boudoir, with jewellery in clusters, perfume bottles on the dressing table, lotions and unguents on the bedside table, satin negligee and gown draped on a chair. How different from his room with its neat pile of books, a shaving kit and a dressing gown the only objets d’art to identify him as the resident. Phryne’s room was lit only by the lamp on the bedside table, the bed turned down (by whom he wondered?). Both stood still by the bed until Jack moved forward taking her to him firmly and kissed her, warmly, passionately. Whilst he wasn’t a man of vastly varied experiences as a lover he was, as Phryne had once observed, a man whose passions ran deep and he had no trouble gently undoing her blouse and running his hands over the shape of her breasts beneath the satin camisole. He slid the straps off her shoulders and held her firmly as he lowered her onto the bed, gently removing the black velvet pants and leaving her only in satin underwear.  
  
Phyrne completed the removal of his shirt as she reacted to him. She responded to each of his moves with gasps, moving her hands over his body as she in turn further undressed him, belt, then trousers, button by button. Passion overwhelmed them both as they removed the final layers between modesty and vulnerability, pausing to admire what each had so long desired. She admired the taught, muscled frame, smiled at him hard and aching with desire as she rolled him onto his back then moved momentarily to locate one of the bottles next to the bed, pouring oil into the palm of her hands.  
  
“Massage?” she whispered into his ear and smoothed the oil over his chest, massaging his nipples and running her hands everywhere, moving slowly, erotically, intimately and deftly downwards, his stomach, his thighs, until she grasped his throbbing member, spreading the oil over him, firmly moving her hand up and down him til he growled for her to stop, “Not yet, I want to come inside you.”  
  
Jack was bewitched by her nakedness, the whiteness of her flesh contrasting the pink erect nipples, the darkness of her hair; he leaned over her, kissing her on her eyelids, her lips, her throat, her breasts, caressing each nipple with his lips and tongue, then biting them delicately as her moans increased, her body arching in response. She opened her legs as he moved his lips over her, encouraging him to explore her body, between her legs. Almost by instinct he slid his tongue inside her, licking her warmth, sensing her wetness. She gasped that she wanted him, and clasped his head, moving him upwards, until he was above her. He looked deeply into her eyes as he entered her, her hand guiding him inside. He held himself back from the fierce, irresistible desire to plunge into her and climax immediately; he wanted this to last as long as possible.  
She wrapped her legs around him, her hips moving in motion with his thrusting, the rhythm slow and steady then ever-increasing in pace and vigour as their arousals peaked. They kissed deeply, gasped and groaned in harmony, climaxing as one.  
  
They fell back, exhausted into the pillows, Phryne settled into him, “Jack Robinson” she purred.  
  
“What?” he whispered and draped his arm protectively around her, covering them both with the sheet and blanket.  
  
“Nothing, nothing at all,” she murmured back. He watched her, her eyes closed, her mouth in a relaxed smile, her hair in disarray, until he heard her breathing slow into sleep.  
  
He was far too stimulated to sleep yet, thoughts wildly tumbling around in his head. He could hardly believe what was happening. He thought over how she had appeared in the library, how they had made love, how she had reacted to him, how she had made him react to her. He had scarcely experienced such enjoyment, such pleasure, such intimacy, even in the early days of his marriage. He was lying beside the woman with whom he was besotted, he believed he may be in love with, he had wanted to escape but knew he couldn’t, ever. He found himself wondering what she thought, what she felt. Was he yet another lover to be tossed aside tomorrow? Why had she come to him if that were the case? There was something there surely. He looked down at her again, mesmerised by her, until eventually, sleep overwhelmed him too.


	12. Chapter 12

Early morning grey light woke Jack. It took him a couple of seconds to remember where he was and why. Beside him Phryne lay still, as beautiful and as serene as ever. He wanted to disturb her, hold her again, have her again, but dared not. He thought he had better get back to his own room before the establishment sprang to life and he was found missing from his own room. The last thing he needed was his investigation disrupted by any whiff of a scandal which would be bound to be exaggerated by those who didn’t want him around. And then there was that slightly nagging feeling in the back of his mind that she may reject him – if so he was going to delay that as long as possible. Reluctantly he got out of her bed and collected his clothes scattered about the bed and floor and dressed himself before leaving the room with a last long, lingering look at Phryne before he gently closed the door. He returned to his own room and turned down his bed, rumpling the sheets and pillows, still made from the day before. He collected his toiletry bag and robe and headed down the corridor to the bathroom, thinking that a long, soaking bath would be the transition he needed between the night of intimacy he had spent with her and the day ahead. As he soaked himself, he wondered about his clothes and any clues left on them for the ever-attentive Isa to notice when she collected the laundry.  
  
Back in his room he dressed slowly and carefully, more formally than the day before, given he knew he’d have to start interviewing some of the officers at the station this morning. A knock at the door heralded his breakfast tray. He looked quickly around, doing a final check for anything incriminating from the previous night.  
  
He opened the door and was surprised to see Isa followed by none other than Mr Butler! Isa saw his reaction: “Sir, this is Mr Butler. He is a man-servant visiting with the ladies from Melbourne. He has kindly offered to help mother with some chores and has said he would do the gentlemen’s shoes.” Isa moved to take the breakfast tray onto the veranda as was the habit over the past week. “Good morning Mr Butler. DI Robinson. As it happens my shoes could do with a clean and shine.”  
  
“Thank you sir and I am happy to collect your laundry too sir,” said Mr Butler formally.  
  
Isa returned from the veranda and took her leave, “Shall you be having lunch here or in town sir?” She seemed slightly taken aback at Mr Butler’s attentions to her Inspector’s needs but was happy to have someone else to help with the chores, and he was a little intimidating, not someone she would dare to contradict.  
  
“I am not sure. Perhaps I’ll leave it for now. I’m due in town and I could well not be back in time.” She excused herself and left although she would have quite liked to stay so that he’d ask her some more questions, but not with Mr Butler busying himself in the room.  
  
Alone now, Jack turned to Mr Butler. “Thank you Mr Butler. How are you? I believe you have family near here?”  
  
“I am well sir. Yes indeed, I have a cousin of Mrs Butler’s in Bundalong. I shall be spending some time there too. She has the general store and could do with some help. We are neither of us young.” Jack smiled and commented on the serendipitous nature of the arrangement.  
  
“Should you perhaps like a picnic lunch arranged sir?” Jack raised a cautious eyebrow. “Miss Fisher tends to rise late and it looks like it may be a very nice day. I am sure lunch in the gardens would be very pleasant.” Mr Butler had without any fuss come to his rescue on the laundry front and now was promoting his social life. He seemed only ever present when required and invisible when not, but was all-seeing, all-knowing.  
  
“That sounds ideal, given I am not sure of my timing” said Jack, seriously. He had the distinct knack of keeping his feelings contained but was, at this moment, delighted. “Very good sir.” Mr Butler turned with his arms laden with shoes and a washing bag of clothes and unobtrusively left the room.  
  
Jack sat on the veranda to have his breakfast looking out over the grounds, the greens and greys of the eucalypts, the lawns and shrubs coming to light from the shadows in the early morning sun, the river beyond glittering with stars of sunlight; he contemplated the gentle scene and the dramatic change in his circumstances in the past 12 hours; and thoroughly enjoyed his tea and toast.


	13. Chapter 13

Phryne languished in bed as was her want. She had woken up late, customary for her, if not absolutely required to rise early. She rolled around to see the bed beside her empty, and hugged the pillow to her, breathing in deeply the scent of his hair oil mixed with her own massage oil. “Noble Jack”, she mused, knowing that he would have left out of propriety. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction that she hadn’t felt for a long time and understood why the lethargy, the melancholy that had invaded her had been swept away. She had to admit it, Mac was right, she needed Jack.  
  
Dot brought in her breakfast tray and began tidying her things and getting her clothes ready for the day. She was used to her mistress’s abandon when it came to her bedroom, and had long ago stopped even thinking of what might have taken place.  
  
“Good morning Miss,” she said with her usual bright smile, “I think it’s going to be a lovely day.”  
  
“I think so too Dot, and we have work to do. Inspector Robinson has a very specific task for you too.”  
  
“So how is the Inspector Miss? Is the case going well?” queried Dot. She wanted to give Hugh a full report on their return.  
  
“He is well Dot but I can assure you that he is very pleased we are here.” Phyrne outlined the circumstances to Dot’s willing ears. “ Now I want you to make a friend of the landlady’s daughter, Isabelle. See what she knows of the case, especially the victim and the alleged guilty party. Inspector Robinson thinks she knows more than she admits to, and perhaps doesn’t agree quite so vehemently as others, including her mother, as to young Sergio’s guilt.”  
  
“Yes Miss. And I’ve met her already. She is very nice and I am sure we can be friends. Mr Butler is already in Mrs Glover’s good books. He has cleaned all the men’s shoes and has now started on the silver.”  
  
“We better not make ourselves too clever, Dot, but I know I can rely on your being discreet. Now what have you chosen for me to wear?”  
  
“Mr Butler has organised for you to have lunch in the garden with Inspector Robinson, who is in town at the moment, so I would suggest something suitable for eating on a rug” said Dot as she looked through the wardrobe where an array of florals, patterns, plains, stripes, linens, organzas, chiffons, satins, georgettes and silks hung waiting for a decision. Phryne smiled thinking with delight what lay ahead.  
  
Phryne look very much like a model on the front cover of Vogue: she wore a scoop-neck, sleeveless tunic in a burnt orange jersey which clung close to her body, with a dropped waist, overlaid with a cascading scallop belt in contrasting green satin. Long strings of jet crystal were looped around her neck, the black matching her slip, patterned stockings and T-bar shoes. A large straw hat with buttons in burnt orange and green complemented the outfit. She walked out through the French windows onto the veranda, and strolled along taking in her surrounds. Around the other side of the veranda she came across the table and chairs which she assumed identified Jack’s room, and peered in through the window. Neat as a pin, all in order, it must be his room. She made a mental note of the access via the veranda and wandered back to her own room and collected the newspaper then returned to Jack’s table and chairs, sitting in one armchair her feet neatly on the other, to await their lunch.


	14. Chapter 14

Jack approached the station wondering what impediments would be put in the way of his investigation this time. He had asked to interview the constables who had been first on scene. Young Mackenzie was at the desk again and looked up and acknowledged Jack politely, “Good morning sir. You’ve come to see Taylor and Squires sir. They are in one of the interview rooms sir.” Whilst Jack wasn’t fooled by the sycophantic welcome, it was preferable to the obnoxious beginning a week ago.  
  
“Thank you Mackenzie. It’s good to see you again. How are things?” Jack made his way through behind the desk and in one firm but kind remark managed to get the young constable on side.  
  
“Fine sir. Through to the end of the corridor. Thank you sir.”  
  
Jack found the two constables in an open interview room and motioned one to stay and the other to wait elsewhere. He opened his files, took out his notepad and pen, and looked seriously at Constable Squires.

“I presume you have your notes? So tell me what you remember of the call that took you to the crime scene on 12 December last year.”

“The call came into the station from Dr Andrews. He was calling from the Five Creeks homestead. He said Mr Middleton had been shot and that he was dead.”  
  
“What time was that?”  
  
Squires consulted his notes, “That was at 20.10.”  
  
“And what time did you and Constable Taylor arrive at the homestead?”  
  
“At 2300 sir.”  
  
“What took you so long to get there? Can you recall?”  
  
“It was a very busy night and Taylor was out on a call. It was harvest time. We get a lot of calls for drunkenness during that time and I was the only one at the station that was available to leave so I had to wait for someone to get back to the station. Taylor got back some time later with a number of inebriated persons who had to be booked in with the custody sergeant.”  
  
“You didn’t think that a man shot dead might not have needed some urgent response?”  
  
“Well he was dead wasn’t he? There was nothing more to do on that front. The doctor said he was dead.”  
  
“So continue. You got to the crime scene at 2300 hours, then what did you do?”  
  
“We went to the homestead to see the doctor. He was there with Mrs Middleton who was in a complete state and the doctor was calming her down. The body was in the parlour.”  
  
“Is that where you believe the shooting took place, in the parlour?”  
  
“No sir, the doctor and some of the farmhands brought him into the house, to try and save him. But he was dead like I said.”  
  
“Yes constable, so you’ve said. When did you attend the crime scene?”  
  
“It was dark sir, so there wasn’t much point going out into the paddock at that time of night. So we spoke to Dr Andrews who said he would issue a death certificate and contact the hospital to take the body to the morgue, make all the arrangements. He said he needed to treat Mrs Middleton, as she was hysterical. She was desperate for the children not be around and see their father dead. So we left.”  
  
“So you left, without going out with your torches to view the scene, without securing the scene with tape, without leaving a police guard?”  
  
“We rang back to the station and Inspector Humphreys said he’d send the investigation team in the morning.”  
  
“So the inspector was here at the station?”  
  
“No sir, we rang him at home.”  
  
“What time did you leave the homestead?”  
  
Squires consulted his notes again, “At just after midnight, 0015.”  
  
“Do you have any other recollections of that evening, constable, which the investigation team would have found of interest?”  
  
Squires looked thoughtful, “No sir. There was a lot of commotion with the people in the homestead and all the farmhands hanging around outside. I told them to clear off.”  
  
“And the rifle?” Jack asked patiently, not allowing his frustration to show.  
  
“We left that inside and had it locked away in their cabinet.”  
  
“Right, excellent, thank you Squires. I’ll walk out with you and collect Constable Taylor.”  
  
“It’s Senior Constable now sir,” remarked Jack’s next interviewee.  
  
“Congratulations Senior Constable. I trust your grandmother is fully recovered?” Taylor looked puzzled.  
  
“I understood you have been away looking after her and that’s why we haven’t been able to meet before this,” Jack pursued.  
  
“Oh yes sir, she is much better now. Fit as a fiddle.”  
  
“Now tell me from your notes about what happened on the night of December 12 last year.”  
  
The Senior Constable’s notes basically confirmed his colleague’s version of the events.  
  
“So now you are a Senior Constable, in hindsight, is there anything you would have done differently?”  
  
“No sir, not really. I suppose we could have asked the farmhands to stick around, so that they could all be interviewed. But there really wasn’t much point in that. The DI wasn’t going to be there til morning, and anyway, most of them couldn’t speak English, so wouldn’t have been much use anyway, would it?”  
  
Jack finished his notes and thanked the young man and went upstairs to see DI Humphreys who seemed to be in his customary pose, leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigarette, scrutinising a piece of paper held in his other hand.  
  
“Ah morning Jack. How are you? Haven’t seen you for a few days. Been admiring the scenery while you’re here?”  
  
“I am very impressed with your domain Inspector,” Jack refused to rise to the implication that he was here on holidays, and also realised he didn’t even know his first name, “but I haven’t had as much time as I would like to look around. However, I have had a chance to go through all the documentation now, so there are one or two things I’d like to ask you today if I may.”  
  
“Sure. Go ahead. Fire away.”  
  
“Do you need to get your notes?” Jack queried.  
  
“If I need ‘em, I’ll get ‘em.” Humphreys eyed Jack determinedly.  
  
“Right. Can you tell me why the crime scene wasn’t secured on the night of the shooting?”  
  
“It’s as black as the hobs of hell out there at night. No point. We could have contaminated the place trying to get by with torches. Much more sensible to get the place secure in the morning.”  
  
“So why no police guard?”  
  
“There was no-one to spare. We had every man rounding up the local drunks that night. Mad house this place was.”  
  
“So you and Senior Constable Taylor went there next morning?”  
  
“That’s right. That’s what it says in the files, that’s what I said in court. I went out there and secured the scene. We took the photographs, collected the evidence, bagged it, went to the homestead and collected the gun, and brought it all back here. The constable interviewed the witnesses, the doctor, Alice Middleton too who was in a very bad way.”  
  
“So I believe. How do you know that the area and the rifle hadn’t been contaminated?”  
  
“It hadn’t. We found the shell casings, we found the fabric, we found the cigarette butt. Nothing had been touched. I told you that the day you arrived.”  
  
“Who were the farmhands who helped Dr Andrew’s move the body into the house?”  
  
“They’re listed in the court proceedings. The witnesses.”  
  
“There are two listed as bringing the body into the parlour. I understood there were quite a few around given the time of year. Where are the others now?” persisted Jack.  
  
“There weren’t any others. Look, they were all out getting drunk and being arrested by my men and filling up my cells. No idea where they are now or who they are. They’re all itinerant Itis and Greeks. No use at all even if I knew where they are now.” DI Humphreys was looking and sounding annoyed, impatient and desperate for Jack to leave.  
  
“The scene of crime evidence pointed to Del Vecchio. How did you conclude that?”  
  
Humphreys sighed exasperatedly, “We collected the evidence – there were the casings, there was the butt, his brand of cigarette, there was the ripped fabric from his shirt, a match to a shirt in his possession, still wearing it when we arrested him, he had a grudge against James, everyone knew. We got the rifle tested for fingerprints, a match. We had motive, we had evidence.”  
  
“Did you arrange a translator when you arrested Del Vecchio? How did you locate a brief for him?”  
  
“We got another of the farmhands who could speak some English. He didn’t ask for a brief.”  
  
“And how was his barrister chosen to represent him?”  
  
“No idea, that wasn’t down to us.”  
  
“Of course not, just thought you might know.” He paused, “Thank you Inspector. I’m sure I’ll be back. Please thank Squires and Taylor for their co-operation. Taylor’s had a promotion I understand.”  
  
“Yep, good lad he is. See you Jack.” He held out his hand, still firmly seated, and leaving his cigarette in the corner of his mouth.  
  
Jack walked out of the station and into the sunshine. It must be time for that late lunch he thought.


	15. Chapter 15

Jack saw her figure casually sitting, reading the newspaper, at the table and chairs outside his room.  
  
“Good afternoon Miss Fisher,” he opened the French doors wide, the curtains softly billowing in the ensuing breeze. “Do you like this spot?”  
  
“Hello Jack. It’s lovely here, I’m quite taken with it. How were your interviews?” She moved her stockinged feet off the second chair as he approached and sat down on it. She immediately returned her feet to his lap and he placed his hands on them, stroking them as he spoke.  
  
“Interesting and now confirmed what a complete debacle the police proceedings were.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Body moved from the scene, no securing of the crime scene until the next morning, no police guard, no scene of crime officer until the next day, no investigators probing for hairs, dusting for prints, blue-lighting blood splatter, no taking of boot imprints of a possible suspect. A collection of so-called evidence that could have come from anywhere. Less than thorough witness statements taken. And a constable possibly promoted for his efforts.”  
  
At that moment Dot emerged from the other side of the veranda in search of them both.  
  
“Mr Butler has your hamper and I thought I’d let you know that I’m having lunch with Isabelle, then I said I would help her with some mending this afternoon.”  
  
“Excellent Dot,” said Phryne and they followed her downstairs to the awaiting lunch basket. Mrs Glover was in the kitchen frowning, with hands on her hips, looking most displeased with the turn of events. Mr Butler was sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning silver, looking serene and unperturbed by anything.  
  
“You’ve met Miss Fisher I see,” said Mrs Glover, eyeing Phryne’s picnic outfit up and down with a disapproving look.  
  
“We are colleagues Mrs Glover,” responded Jack.  
  
“Strictly business,” added Phryne knowingly, which seemed to placate her.  
  
They strolled down through the grounds to a spot near the river, well away from the prying eyes of anyone at the Reach, Jack carrying the basket and rug, Phryne with her arm through his. He spread the rug and Phryne opened the basket – sandwiches, summer fruits, cheese, two bottles of cold beer. They both settled comfortably, Jack lying on his side, propped on one elbow, Phryne lying on her stomach, perched up on both elbows, knees folded, legs in the air.  
  
“Strictly business now?” queried Jack.  
  
“Yes. Strictly my business and your business and certainly no-one else’s. So where to now Jack? Where shall I begin?”  
  
“Well there’s the so-called witnesses, we need to see how their versions of the events stand up, and trying to track down those who may have really been witnesses but not contacted at all. And there’s the doctor, a Dr Andrews, who was first on scene. And Mrs Middleton herself. And there’s something else Phryne…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The coroner’s report says Middleton was shot in the back. Little is made of it in court proceedings it would appear. I have no idea how the barrister was appointed but he seems to have been completely out of his depth on a murder case.”  
  
“So hardly shot in defence or as part of a struggle. What about young Sergio? Where is he?”  
  
“How do you feel about having a chat with him when you are back in Melbourne? You could be his advocate as a private detective. How’s your Italian?”  
  
“Passable. And I’ve heard he would double as Rudolph Valentino. Sounds just like my type.”  
  
“Yes, unfortunately.” Jack looked away self-consciously. Phryne, smiling, picked a strawberry out of a bowl and pressed it into his mouth, so he couldn’t then help but look at her. “How would you be able to approach Alice Middleton? Could you find a way of doing that?”  
  
“Well there’s the ladies who do afternoon tea here I believe. I imagine she would be one of them. You want me to see if she is the grieving widow?”  
  
“Yes, possibly. But she may be able to give more intelligence now than she was able to supply at the time. It seems that Dr Andrews gave her some kind of sedative on the night as she was hysterical. She has given virtually no record of the events, what Middleton was doing in the paddock at that time of night, how she heard about the shooting, why she rang Dr Andrews first. And she doesn’t seem to have been called to give evidence.”  
  
Jack rolled onto his back, his hands behind his head, squinting in the sunlight, so closed his eyes. It was a flawless day, sunshine, a light breeze, good food and the company perfect. He knew he would have to spend the afternoon typing up the notes from that morning’s interviews. He had to consider how to locate the witnesses from among the itinerant community and try to get their support – he was expecting a code of silence. Then, there was an appointment to be made with Dr Andrews who he knew by sight as one of the regulars in the dining room.  
  
In this pleasant state he felt a shadow move across the sun, Phryne’s face was above his, blocking the glare. She leant down and kissed his lips and he moved his hands from under his head to cradle hers.  
  
“You taste of strawberries DI Robinson,” she murmured, kissing him again. He felt for another strawberry from the bowl and put it in her mouth, returned the kiss and responded, “So do you Miss Fisher.”  
  
They lay contently side by side for some time, before Jack sighed and said, “I think I had better get on with typing up today’s notes and tracking down Dr Andrews.” Then paused and added, “Shall I see you tonight?”  
  
“I hope so. We shall dine together won’t we? I’d like to see the representatives of the town’s elite. And Dot may well have something to report from her afternoon with Isa.”  
  
“I usually have a drink on the veranda beforehand. How does that sound?”  
  
“It sounds like a plan Inspector.” He got up and took her hands to help her up. Phryne couldn’t help feeling how much she enjoyed his conversation, his mind, his attentions, his body and perhaps even his heart.  
  
They wandered amiably back to the homestead, completely comfortable in each other’s company, each of their thoughts entwined in the other’s.


	16. Chapter 16

Jack was frustrated typing up his notes. It was tedious and he was slow, not having had to do it for many years. And he felt it was taking time that would be better spent on interviewing others. He picked up the telephone and made a series of calls. First to Russell Street to authorise Collins secondment and to ensure access to Sergio Del Vecchio in his prison, secondly to City South to speak to his own replacement, and then to Collins himself. Acting Inspector Livingstone was unimpressed but there was little he could say; Collins on the other hand could scarcely contain his enthusiasm.  
  
He then rang Dr Andrews’ rooms and made an appointment for that afternoon, before calling in to Mrs Glover and ensuring a room would be available for Collins. She could hardly contain her pleasure in having yet another full board guest with Collins taking the fifth room as a result of the DI’s presence.  
  
On his way out, he knocked on Phryne’s door and let her know that he was on his way to the doctor’s.  
  
“I have organised for Collins to come down. I could do with a constable who actually does the job honestly and professionally. You might want to let Miss Williams know.”  
  
“Why not! We could have quite a party!”  
  
“Now Miss Fisher it would be strictly on the understanding that he behaves…  
  
“…exactly like his Inspector.” Phryne completed.  
  
Jack blushed, “Certainly not. I mean of course.” He turned on his heels, leaving Phryne with one of her customary arch looks.  
  
Dr Andrews’ surgery was in the main street of town, Belmore Street. It was a broad street with date palms down a central island and stately brick buildings with wide timber verandas on either side. Jack was shown into his rooms and was immediately impressed with what appeared to be a modern practice, with several rooms and a number of staff – a receptionist, nurse and at least one junior doctor. Dr Andrews was also a surgeon, and obviously enjoyed a thriving practice. His receptionist showed the inspector into a comfortable sitting room and Dr Andrews came in, striding confidently proffering a hand then shaking Jack’s vigorously.  
  
“How are you Inspector? Safe trip? How are you enjoying yourself in this lovely part of the world? Can I get you some tea? Miss Davis, some tea please!”  
  
Jack wondered which question he should answer first. “Thank you for seeing me. I know you must be very busy, and I know this may be difficult as I know Mr Middleton was a friend and colleague.”  
  
“Yes, indeed. A very sad business. But happy to help. I was there of course on the night it happened.”  
  
“Could you tell me at what time Mrs Middleton rang you?”  
  
“Sometime after 7 in the evening I seem to recall. She was incredibly distressed and quite incoherent. She wanted me to come straight over and attend to him. She could not accept he was dead.”  
  
“Where was the body when you arrived?”  
  
“He was in the vicinity of the outhouses. Alice just wasn’t prepared to accept he was dead and pleaded with us to take him into the house.”  
  
“Can you recall how the body was lying when you arrived? Anything at all – the direction it was facing, the placement of the body, anything in relation to the positioning of the limbs?”  
  
“He was facing downwards, as we had to turn him over I recall. Obviously there was a lot of blood from the haemorrhaging. I don’t remember anything unusual about anything except being called to the scene of a murder.”  
  
“Under normal circumstances, you would have left the body and called the police?”  
  
“Of course Inspector, although murder scenes are not normal circumstances for me. I’ve very little experience in these matters. I rarely attend murder scenes. Unlike yourself.”  
  
“You said you were with others. Who else was there?”  
  
“There were a few around. There were James’ men and some of the itinerants. We got the body onto a makeshift stretcher and took him into the house. I pronounced him dead and got in touch with the hospital. I called the police too of course.”  
  
“Do you remember when you made those calls?”  
  
“Not precisely. We’re talking months ago now Inspector. Perhaps around 8 pm. My chief concern was Alice of course and her children.”  
  
“Were you aware of how the shooting happened? Did any of the men see or hear anything and relay it to you? Was there anything Alice said?”  
  
“The men talked about shouting, an argument before hearing the shots. Alice said she heard the noises, knew James was outside and went out to investigate. I don’t know any more than that Inspector.” He spread his arms in innocence and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“What in your view was the cause of death?” Jack asked calmly, to which Dr Andrews responded as if he were stupid.  
  
“He was shot and it was that that killed him. He was shot dead. You weren’t aware of that?” he asked, with mock incredulity.  
  
“I would like your medical opinion Dr Andrews. You were called to the property in your capacity as a doctor. And I understand that Mr Middleton was shot in the back.”  
  
Dr Andrews for the first time looked slightly embarrassed, “Yes, it would appear that there were several bullets lodged in his spine and neck.”  
  
“And you’ve known the Middletons for a long time? How was their relationship?”  
  
“I’ve known James since he was a boy and Alice’s family too. We are a small community really Inspector.” He had begun to sound irritated and defensive, and continued condescendingly, “In this community, there are those of us who grew up together, we know each other, we look after one another. And as to the suggestion of any estrangement between James and Alice, well that’s simply an extraordinary allegation.”  
  
“Not an allegation at all Dr Andrews, but they were happy?” He had long experience with arrogance and entitlement and was not intimidated by it.  
  
“Of course they were. They are both from local successful families. The marriage involved a substantial uniting of properties and resources: it was made in heaven. They were made for each other. They were very much in love.”  
  
“Thank you for your time. I appreciate it very much.”  
  
“Good day Inspector. Nice to meet you.”


	17. Chapter 17

Dot sat at a table in the parlour with Isa, eating sandwiches, each with their own plan; Dot to pursue what Isa might know of James Middleton and his accused murderer and Isa to pursue what the relationship was between the latest arrivals and her Inspector. Despite the agenda each nursed, there was also much in common between the two in age and experience, and it was easy conversation for them both.  
  
“It is lovely here Isa. You must like living here,” commenced Dot.  
  
“Oh yes, we are very lucky to have this business. My mother started it herself. She was left the property by an uncle.”  
  
“So you grew up here?”  
  
“In this town, yes and I’ve spent most of my life living here with Mum. We came here when I was a little girl.”  
  
“But you must be busy all the time. You work so hard. Do you ever have a chance to go out?” Dot began her probing carefully.  
  
“Not much and Mum doesn’t like me to. And anyway we have the dining rooms full on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays and they are the times for going out.”  
  
“Have you ever been to the pictures? I went just a couple of weeks ago to the talkies. It was excellent.”  
  
“So who do you go with? Do you have a boyfriend or do you go with your girlfriends?”  
  
“I have a fiancé. His name is Hugh. He works for the Inspector usually.”  
  
Isa’s heart missed a beat. “So is that how you know the Inspector? He is your fiancé’s boss? So you know the Inspector well then?”  
  
Dot sensed that her own line of inquiry may need to veer off course temporarily. “I don’t know him well. Only that he is the inspector where Hugh is stationed. Miss Fisher knows him better because they work together occasionally.”  
  
“So are you Miss Fisher’s maid?”  
  
“Yes at first, but now I’m more her companion. I am very lucky. I couldn’t have a better situation. She looks after me and I look after her.”  
  
“So, how is it that she works for the Inspector?”  
  
“She doesn’t, she just helps out from time to time when their paths cross or a case needs to involve them both,” Dot explained cautiously.  
  
Isa looked troubled, “So, why is she here for this one?”  
  
Dot hadn’t been quite expecting such a grilling and she was a long way from steering the conversation in the direction she wanted. “Well I think there was a matter that needed her expertise. Or it may have been a coincidence. I think it was that, yes, a coincidence, because Mr Butler had to visit his cousin in Bundalong anyway.”  
  
Isa seemed temporarily satisfied. “So Miss Fisher isn’t married?”  
  
“Oh goodness no. She is a very modern woman.” Isa’s body language reflected a sigh of relief so Dot saw this as her opportunity. “What about you, do you have a boyfriend? Do you want to get married one day?”  
  
“I don’t really have a boyfriend, not at the moment, but I would like to get married one day,” Isa conceded.  
  
The two young ladies tidied up their lunch things and Isa went into the kitchen to make them a pot of tea to share as they got to work on the mending and darning that Dot had offered to help with. They chatted cheerily for a while then Dot took her engagement ring from where it was threaded on a chain around her neck and showed Isa in a confidential whisper, “This is my engagement ring.”  
  
“Oh it’s beautiful. What is he like, your Hugh?”  
  
“Well, he is the nicest man I know, of course. He is very handsome, and polite and courteous. And he loves me and I love him so I suppose that’s the most important thing.”  
  
“So when will you be married?”  
  
“We haven’t set a date. Hugh still has to tell his parents that I'm a Catholic, and we have to agree about me working. I don’t want to leave Miss Fisher.”  
  
“Why wouldn't you want to stop working? Wouldn't you like being home to look after your house and husband?”  
  
“Yes, of course I would like to look after him, but I could never let Miss Fisher down. She rescued me from,… from a very difficult situation, and I will never ever forget that. I owe her everything.”  
  
Isa looked intently at her and Dot sensed that she was about to reveal something. “So you were in trouble? And Miss Fisher helped you?”  
  
“Yes, but it’s not something we ever talk about now. It is good to have a friend when you are in dire need, isn't it?”  
  
“Can you keep a secret?” Isa felt the overwhelming need to unburden to Dot, probably the only person near her age she had ever spoken more than a few sentences to in a long time.  
  
“I have had a boyfriend, well I’ve had two boyfriends actually.”  
  
“I am not surprised, “ said Dot warmly. “You are so pretty, everyone says so, and helpful. I am sure you must have lots of boyfriends.” Dot hoped she hadn’t gone too far, “And there are so many young men who work here, especially in the season.”  
  
“Well I had a boyfriend a while ago. He was a fair bit older than me. He was very handsome and very nice, but then I got pregnant and…” she paused.  
  
Dot was intrigued and tried very hard not to fire a myriad of questions at once, “That must have been very difficult. What did you do?”  
  
“Mum sent me away to Melbourne to have the baby. I have family there, my father’s family is in Carlton, my father has been dead since I was a baby myself, but they looked after me until I had the baby. A girl. She was adopted.”  
  
“And did you tell your boyfriend? Did he know? He must have worried about your being gone”  
  
“Yes. No. We never really talked about it. Well not much. I don’t know. He isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”  
  
“Was it very hard giving your baby away?” Dot asked gently.  
  
“Yes it was. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. I think of her all the time and wonder how she is. I hope she is being well looked after.”  
  
“You have to expect that she is in a very good home with a couple who will be forever grateful to you for giving them something that they could never have.”  
  
“Yes, I don’t suppose I’d ever thought of it that way.”  
  
“And you have another boyfriend now?” Dot pressed.  
  
“Well not really now. He’s in trouble and I don’t expect to see him again. And anyway Mum would never approve.”  
  
“Is he a Catholic?” Dot’s own world intruded on her companion’s.  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe. But that isn't the problem. Mum expects me to marry someone she chooses. She doesn't think any of the farmhands are good enough for me. She thinks that we have standing in the town so I should choose someone of the same status.”  
  
“So your boyfriend, the one in trouble, is he a farmhand?”  
  
“He was one of the itinerants. He was here last season and stayed here. We run a business for the itinerants.” They sat in companionable silence both bent over their work then Isa asked, “Is the Inspector married do you know?” Dot nearly choked on the tea she was drinking.  
  
“Well, I don’t know, I'm not sure. It is not something I have ever asked Hugh and I’m not sure Hugh would even know.” Dot allowed herself to ramble to give herself time to collect her thoughts, “Let me see, … or did I hear something once perhaps? Perhaps I did. I think he might not be married, but he was married, and he isn't married anymore.”  
  
“So Miss Fisher isn't his girlfriend?”  
  
Dot could not, would not lie, “Oh goodness me, as I said, Miss Fisher is a very modern woman, with very modern ways, and I don’t think she would ever consider marrying anyone. She just isn’t the marrying type. And she loves her work. She would never give up her way of life. Not for anyone." She paused as the realisation came to her that perhaps Isa and her mother did have designs on Inspector Robinson, so continued, but found it difficult to put this shocking thought into words, “You don’t think…, so you think…, your mother doesn’t think…, your mother might think that Inspector Robinson would be suitable?” she stammered, attempting to sound as calm as she could.  
  
Isa nodded, “He is very handsome and seems very kind, and very intelligent. Mum said I need to make an effort to show him how appropriate I am.”  
  
Dot decided she must steer the conversation away from such a distasteful subject. She would not hear of Isa having anything to do with Inspector Robinson, not now, not after all this time, not when he was clearly making her mistress so happy, “Yes, Hugh says he is a very good boss. All the men are a bit in awe of him. He is demanding, strict but fair, and hard-working. They don’t like the one they have standing in for him at all. They all want Inspector Robinson back as soon as possible.”  
  
“Do you think he will finish soon? Do you think he will find out, I mean find what went wrong?”  
  
Dot noted the expression “find out”. “Oh I couldn't say. Miss Fisher doesn’t really tell me anything and Inspector Robinson would never talk to me about his work.”  
  
“He asked me about it all the other day,” responded Isa, obviously pleased to be in a position of one upmanship. “He wanted to know about Mr Middleton and Sergio. I know… knew them both.”  
  
“And were you able to help?” asked Dot, “Were you able to help with the investigation?”  
  
“Well I told him that perhaps not everyone thinks the same about Mr Middleton and Sergio. I said that Sergio wasn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be. He is Italian, so doesn’t behave the same way as the local boys. They are different, the Italians and Greeks. They sing and dance, and drink, and like to flirt with all the girls. They don’t mean any harm, but there are those who take it all the wrong way.”  
  
“But Sergio is accused of killing Mr Middleton. You could hardly say that isn’t meaning any harm!”  
  
“I just can’t believe he did it Dot. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t like that. He was fiery and passionate, but he wouldn’t kill anyone. He was nice.” She lowered her head and a large tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away. Dot put her work down, and went over to her, and put her arm around her.  
  
“What is it Isa? What happened?” she asked kindly which only produced a sob form her companion.  
  
She took a while to respond, and when she was calmer, “I really liked him. He was kind to me. He argued with Mr Middleton I know, but he would never have killed him.”  
  
“What did they argue about?”  
  
“Work, money, wages. There may have been other things, I don’t know,” her voice trailed away and Dot sensed there was something else but she wasn’t prepared to say.  
  
“Look at that basket of work Isa! There’s hardly a thing left to mend. I think we have done very well, don’t you?”  
  
“We have Dot. Thank you so much. I’ve really enjoyed myself this afternoon. And you won’t say anything will you, about my secret? You won’t let on to Mum that you know.”  
  
“I will not breathe a word to your mother, of course not. I had better go and get Miss Fisher’s things ready. I know she’ll want to change for dinner. Will you be serving?”  
  
“Yes, of course. We are having corned beef tonight. I’ll save the best bit for you.” She kissed Dot on the cheek and they parted, good friends.


	18. Chapter 18

Phryne and Jack sat on the veranda looking out over the early evening landscape enjoying their pre-prandial drink. Jack retold the conversation he’d had with Dr Andrews and Phryne had her report from Dot. She had also discovered an entrée into the local ladies’ society.  
  
“You know that last year Lady Mitchell founded the Country Women’s Association to help women and their families in rural communities. Well it just so happens that the ladies meet here to plan local activities to fund raise and develop friendship links.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve heard of them. But is there a local branch?”  
  
“There is indeed and I have just made a substantial donation to the cause and their president is very keen for me to join them and thank me personally.”  
  
“That was generous of you, but I’m not surprised one bit.”  
  
“I support groups like these that support women in need Jack. Women here can be very isolated and unsupported. The branch meets here every second Thursday of the month for high tea and this week so happens to be the March Thursday. There are other meetings on other Thursdays I gather, but not held here.”  
  
“Excellent work – and are you assuming Alice Middleton is a member?”  
  
‘Well I can’t imagine she wouldn’t be. The branch seems to consist of the local elite’s wives and daughters.”  
  
“I’ll need to go back to Melbourne to brief Russell Street and pick up Collins, and I could also arrange a visit to Pentridge to interview Del Vecchio in a couple of days’ time. There are still the so-called witnesses to track down here. Do you think you could find out from Alice Middleton who the men were and who the itinerants on the night?”  
  
“Yes, I’ll try and see what I can do. But shouldn’t I come to Melbourne too? I could visit Del Vecchio with you. Or are you keeping me away from this young film star look alike? Couldn’t you leave after Thursday?”  
  
“Yes, that would be preferable. He won’t want to talk to the police if he feels he wasn’t listened to; and especially if it turns out that he was wrongly accused, that there was a miscarriage of justice. I think he’ll see you as an ally. But he doesn’t have visitors, only once a month, so I’ll need to go with you for you to have access.”  
  
“Pentridge, for hardened criminals Jack. And he’s probably not more than a boy.”  
  
“He was sent to Castlemaine originally. They transferred him to Pentridge for the convenience of Russell Street I think. Now Miss Fisher if you accompany me to Melbourne, I’m driving.”  
  
“Are you sure? We’d get there much faster in the Hispano Suiza.”  
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Anyhow I’m required to travel in the police car and as mine is equipped with the two-way radio, the police car it must be. You can take your own of course, but you won’t have my company.”  
  
“Very well Jack,” Phryne pouted, “So I have tomorrow but probably Thursday to see Alice Middleton? Mr Butler may go to his cousin if we are away.”  
  
“And what about Miss Williams?”  
  
“She will stay I think, now that she and Isa are friends. She may quite like to have a couple of days to herself, preparing for her fiancé’s arrival!”  
  
“Miss Fisher, I don’t want to be accused of manufacturing an arrangement for the personal benefit of an officer of the law.”  
  
“Of course not Jack!” Phryne replied in faux shock, “Far be it from you to be involved in any such arrangement.” Jack looked slightly uncomfortable before suggesting they go down to dinner, where it was his intention to indicate any of the local identities should they be dining in.  
  
Phryne’s entrance into the dining room with the inspector created quite a stir from the small number of patrons. Her sheer black silk chiffon tunic over silk, adorned with black and silver sequins and rhinestone paillettes rustled as she moved.  
  
“Strictly business Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered.  
  
Dr Andrews was at a table with another man Jack didn’t recognise. Jack nodded in his direction, which the doctor used as an excuse to stand up and introduce himself to the DI’s very attractive companion.  
  
“Jonathon Andrews,” he held out his hand.  
  
“This is a colleague, The Hon Phryne Fisher. Miss Fisher, Dr Andrews.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you," Phryne charmed. “Inspector Robinson spoke of you this evening. How do you do?”  
  
“Delighted. I’m dining with a colleague, Mr Samuels, the town solicitor. Perhaps you’d like to join us for a drink after dinner?”  
  
“Thank you,” responded Jack. “We’d be pleased to.”  
  
Dr Andrews left them and Jack noted, “Haven’t met the solicitor yet. That may be useful. He may know how the court appointed Del Vecchio’s barrister or who he was.”  
  
“And I would suspect is related to the Mrs Samuels of the local CWA branch. Do you suppose,” mused Phryne, “that he might know something too of Isa’s matter?”  
  
“Undoubtedly there would have been some knowledge, even if it were merely having contacts in Melbourne. But we’ll need to be wary not to reveal Miss Williams’ confidences.”  
  
Mrs Glover served an excellent dinner, and Phryne and Jack were given Isa’s normal attentive service.  
  
“I believe you enjoyed your afternoon with Miss Williams Isa?” said Phryne.  
  
“Oh yes Miss we did. She is having her dinner with Mr Butler in the parlour. We are great friends now I think. I hope you will be staying Miss, for a while.”  
  
“Well for a little while Isa. Thank you for befriending Dot. I know she enjoyed your company too.”  
  
Phryne and Jack took their time over dinner; they didn’t want to appear too hasty to join the others in the smoking room. When they did so Mr Samuels eyed Phryne up and down as the introductions were made.  
  
“You’re not here on the case too are you Miss Fisher?” he smarmed but clearly wanted to know.  
  
“No, not at all. A serendipitous turn of events, it appears Mr Samuels. As it happens I am here on other business.”  
  
“Ah yes, my wife tells me you have been very generous to her branch of the CWA. You have a connection here then?”  
  
“Not directly, but through a member of my household staff. I am always keen to promote the welfare of women in need Mr Samuels, as must be your wife, particularly when they are remote from the city and its facilities?”  
  
“Yes the CWA keeps her very busy although it seems to be all tea and scones to me.” He laughed loudly and Dr Andrews joined in, then saw that this wasn’t necessarily shared by their companions.  
  
“I gather the branch is raising money to improve the maternity facility at the local hospital. The conditions there are such that any complications at all in child birth can be fatal. Women here have to travel a considerable distance for expert obstetrics don’t they Dr Andrews?” Phryne gave him a winning smile.  
  
Dr Andrews gave his mute agreement.  
  
“So, Inspector, how’s the case going? I believe you may have been sent on a fool’s mission eh?” said Samuels.  
  
“How so?” queried jack.  
  
“Well there isn’t a lot to this appeal from what I could see. From the point of view of the law, I’m speaking Inspector.”  
  
“Well, my case is obviously from the police point of view, the court’s dealings will be for someone else. But tell me, do you know how the accused was represented? He presumably had no means to employ his own defence.”  
  
“Well, it being Christmas/New Year time, there wasn’t much choice I understand for a court appointed barrister, but he had the right credentials, quite experienced; but no match for the crown can I add.”  
  
“Experienced in murder cases Mr Samuels?” Phryne took the lead.  
  
“Not that I know of, but he was up for it, I can assure you.” He laughed mildly and looked rather condescendingly at Phryne.  
  
Dr Andrews inserted himself into the conversation, “So you and the detective know one another Miss Fisher?”  
  
“Yes, we do,” said Phryne, “We are associates. Our paths cross in matters of law and order from time to time.” And with this gave Dr Andrews nothing of what he wanted to know.  
  
From this conversation turned to the mildness of the weather, its suitability for the next wheat crop, the excellent appointment of Hogan’s Reach and the business Mrs Glover provided for the community, and the fish that could be caught in the river. Once such conversation was exhausted, both parties wished each other good evening and shook hands.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a scene warning. If it's not your scene, please skip to the next chapter.

Jack took Phryne’s arm and escorted her to her room. She turned to him and said,  
  
“Night cap Jack?”  
  
“I’ll go to my room and change out of these clothes. It’s a mild night, I think you could open your windows onto the veranda Miss Fisher. The fresh air might be beneficial.”  
  
“I will see you soon then Inspector,” she responded raising an eyebrow as he positively sauntered down the vestibule towards his room.  
  
When Jack entered Phryne’s room from the veranda in pyjama pants and his gown, he found Phryne in her negligée of cream satin, draped in a chair. As he walked up to her, he caressed her arm then took one hand that was languishing around the back of the chair and pulling her up murmured, “Perhaps I might forego that night cap, I may have had enough to drink.”  
  
“Me too,” she responded warmly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You know I have been thinking about this moment all day.”  
  
“You mean you haven’t been keeping your mind on the case?” Jack drew her to the bed, “You never cease to amaze me.”  
  
They fell into each other’s arms, before Jack softly removed her negligee and reached over for the bottle of oil she had used on him the night before. “Your turn for a massage I think. I thought I might start with your back….And I have been thinking about this moment all day too …” He cupped the oil in his hands and began smoothing it over, gently but firmly gliding his large hands over her shoulders and neck, then running his thumb up and down her spine. After a while he replenished his supply and moved his hands down from the nape of her neck to the small of her back then her soft curves. He felt her reaction as she murmured her approval. Her flesh was so smooth and firm, he was touching her more intimately than he had ever touched any woman, her responses to him arousing him more, as his hands slid and smoothed, following the roundness of every curve and crevice. She slowly rolled over and he commenced again, from her shoulder blades and down to her breasts, cupping her breasts in his hands, massaging her nipples between his thumb and finger, as she gasped at every move. He ran his hands over her stomach, kissing and biting her nipples as his hands moved downwards; her knees bent, her legs apart, he ran his hands between them, and then paused as if he dared not go on. She placed her hand on his, and took his finger guiding it inside her. He felt her warm wetness, as he probed inside her, feeling her react as he fondled her. She began arching her body and groaning as he slightly increased his pressure on the spot that gave her so much pleasure, he continued caressing her firmly, gently, sensing her complete arousal. She threw her head back, grabbing him tightly as she climaxed at his strokes.  
  
“Oh Jack,” she gasped pulling him to her. She lay panting; he felt the pounding of her heart beneath him, her breaths slowing as she lay spent. He was completely aroused and desperately wanted to take her, but not so soon after seeing her climax so fully. He felt pleasure having brought her to such a state and moved to her side and caressed her arm, watching her expression. She turned to him slowly, nestling her head into his chest, then after a while started slowly moving her hands over his body.  
  
“What would you like me to do?” she whispered.  
  
“Anything you like,” his voice from somewhere in the depths of his being responded.  
  
She raised herself above him, then straddling him, lowered herself onto him, her hands on his chest, her hips moving slowly up and down. He grasped her hips thrusting up into her, as she moved in rhythm with him, moaning her delight. He felt a complete and ever-intensifying need to satisfy his arousal and groaned in ecstasy as he released into her.  
  
For a long time they lay side by side without speaking, she nestled into his chest, him resting his cheek on her head, alternately stroking her hair and kissing it. Vaguely wondering what the emotion was that she was feeling, Phyrne caressed his chest: enjoyment, yes, stimulation, yes, satisfaction, yes; but there was something else, something unfathomable that she was feeling that she couldn’t define. She considered how much she liked being in his company, in her work and now in her play, and she thought back to the conversation she’d had with Mac. He had never made any demands of her, had been conciliatory in her interference in his cases, had tolerated her insolence, her flirtations, her excess. There was only that once when he had wanted her off his case, after the motor car accident when he thought it was her lying dead. He said he could not have borne it if it had been her; he admitted that he cared for her so much that he needed her out of his life, because he knew what she was, and would never ask her to be anything else. The contradiction in their situations could not be resolved. But they had moved on since then, there had been a truce of sorts. So what was the case now? The reason he had come away without seeing her, then moved to write to her? Was he admitting that he wanted to be with her, no matter what the circumstances? Was it that she too could see a need to resolve the contradiction and accept that a compromise might just work? Had Mac been right? She sighed unconsciously.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he asked her softly. “Are you all right? Would you rather I left?”  
  
“No, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay.”  
  
He held her a little more tightly at her words. “You know I’ll have to go back to my room before morning. I don’t want to, but you know I must.”  
  
“Do you always have to do the right thing, the noble thing Jack?”  
  
“Well I think it may be already proven that I don’t, not always Miss Fisher.”


	20. Chapter 20

Jack spent most of the next day chasing up the two men called as witnesses to the prosecution’s case. They were men who worked on the Middleton property who claimed to have been around at the time of the shooting. The men were permanent employees of the estate, rather than itinerants, so knew the location well.  
  
Unsurprisingly, the two of them had a very similar story, almost word for word. Young Sergio del Vecchio had been round at the property for several days, urging the other itinerant workers to strike in demand of higher wages. He was able to rally the other migrants from Italy easily and there was growing tension between the itinerant workers and the general farmhands who were permanently employed on the local properties.  
  
Middleton had warned Del Vecchio off the property several times in the days leading up to the shooting. On the night in question, most of the workers went out drinking, as was their habit, returning to their bunks after closing, laden with cheap spirits. Del Vecchio was among the men, even though he wasn’t employed at Five Creeks, nor was he staying there. He was staying at Hogan’s Reach.  
  
Jack put it to the Five Creeks manager, Jo Pike, “So Del Vecchio had come to Five Creeks what, for company, for what purpose?”  
  
“To cause trouble, like he always did. Some of his mates worked here and he’d been to the hotel with them and came back here with them.”  
  
“Who were these other people? Do you know their names?”  
  
“Let’s see now… Luigi, Mario, Gino…” he laughed, then stopped when he saw the Inspector didn’t find it amusing. “No, can’t say that I remember. They would come and go; stay for a few days, few weeks, move on.”  
  
“So you don’t keep paperwork on those you employ?”  
  
“I may have, somewhere.”  
  
“So on the night in question, Del Vecchio and others came back to the property. What time would that have been?”  
  
“I have told the police all of this. It’s all written down.”  
  
“”Yes, I understand. But I’d appreciate hearing your version again if you don’t mind.”  
  
“Well sometime after closing, maybe 6.30 or so. They’d get their hands on sly grog and keep on drinking. Then they all got rowdy and eventually Mr Middleton came out to quieten things down.”  
  
“Why did he have his rifle with him?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe to frighten Del Vecchio away. Maybe he thought it was wild pigs and he was going to shoot them.” He smirked. Jack was liking the cut of his jib less and less.  
  
“So you saw Mr Middleton come out of the house, over to the outhouses, with his rifle?”  
  
“No, I came out of my quarters when I heard the arguments, the shouting, the shots. I saw Mrs Middleton screaming, kneeling down next to her husband. She was hysterical and pointing at Del Vecchio.”  
  
“What was she screaming?”  
  
“She was incoherent. I don’t remember what she said. There was panic everywhere, people everywhere. But it was something to the effect of “Why couldn’t you just leave him alone?” My concern was for Mr Middleton, not for words some policeman might want to hear months later.”  
  
“So who took Middleton into the house?”  
  
“Tom Ridgeway took Mrs Middleton back to the house and called for the doctor.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve spoken to Ridgeway.” Jack confirmed, “Who took Mr Middleton back to the house, who took the body?”  
  
“I waited til the doctor got here. I stayed with the body.”  
  
“What time was that?” Jack interrupted.  
  
“I don’t know, about 7, then Tom and I took Mr Middleton up to the house. The doc said he was dead but Mrs Middleton had come back crying and upset and thought the doc could save him.”  
  
“Was there anyone who saw the shooting?”  
  
“Not that I know of. Maybe some of the Itis, who knows. But what are they going to say? All mates together. We got rid of the lot of them the next day.”  
  
“Where did Mr Middleton keep his rifle?” Jack persevered.  
  
“In the house. There’s a gun cabinet there. Locked. I have a key, Mr Middleton had a key. There was a spare in the safe. That’s it.”  
  
“So you are not aware of anyone actually seeing a struggle between Sergio Del Vecchio and James Middleton which resulted in Mr Middleton being shot?”  
  
“Like I said Inspector, it was pretty obvious what happened and I told Humphreys everything I saw. It’s all written down.”  
  
“Thank you Mr Pike. Oh um, I believe you have a small holding yourself, further up the river, River Gum?”  
  
“Yes, what of it?”  
  
“A recent purchase?”  
  
“Yes, been saving all my life and it came onto the market in January. Couldn’t believe it. The property I’ve always wanted – small compared to this one, but a great property to be developed.”  
  
“So you will be moving on from Five Creeks soon?”  
  
“Yes, as soon as settlement is finalised.”  
  
“Thank you Mr Pike. Good day.”

Later that afternoon, Jack and Phryne exchanged notes. Phryne had some news of the pending CWA meeting.  
  
“I rang Mrs Samuels and I told her I had met her charming husband and was looking forward to the high tea and hearing about the branch’s plans for their funds. I was able to ask about the membership, and here’s the interesting thing Jack, Alice Middleton is a member as we assumed, but does not attend the meetings here at the Reach.”  
  
“Why ever not I wonder?” mused Jack. “Since the shooting?”  
  
“No, I gather there’s been a rift for some time. Mrs Samuels wouldn’t be drawn on it. There are meetings held at the homestead every other Thursday I gather. Alice Middleton is very involved in the Association but will definitely not be here tomorrow. I’m committed now and must attend, but I’ll need an excuse to visit Alice Middleton on some other ruse.”  
  
“What’s the purpose of the meetings there? What do they do in the meetings at her home?”  
  
“Baking and cross-stitching from what I can gather; hardly my areas of expertise.”  
  
“What do they do with their biscuits and needlework?”  
  
“ They sell them and raise funds; the women devote the goods and their time and I suppose it offers opportunities for women of like minds to come together and meet socially.”  
  
“Could you offer to deliver somewhere? What about Mr Butler’s connections in Bundalong? Could you offer to take some goods over there to be sold at the general store?”  
  
“Brilliant Jack and I can deliver Mr Butler to the cousin for a few days at the same time. Perhaps I might take Dot and Isa for a chat with Mrs Middleton. Isa could give me the introduction.”  
  
“Let me know how you go. I’ll ring Russell Street about a time to visit Del Vecchio. So we shall plan to leave here Friday morning?”  
  
“Yes, Friday morning. I’ll see you tonight.” returned Phryne as she went in search of Dot and Isa, thinking as she did so, that in less than a week her entire world had changed.  
  
Isa and Dot were in the parlour surrounded by fabrics, Dot ironing one of Phryne’s outfits, Isa bent over the mending basket, both chatting and giggling when Phryne walked in.  
  
“Hello girls. I have a visit in mind and wondered if you’d like to join me, both of you. I want to go to Five Creeks and meet Alice Middleton, and I thought you could introduce us Isa” said Phryne brightly.  
  
Dot looked enthusiastically at her mistress, then they both saw the blood drain from Isa’s face. “Oh no, sorry, I couldn’t possibly,” she stammered. “I have so much to do, Mum would never let me go.”  
  
“Nonsense, your mother has had Dot and Mr Butler helping out, I’m sure she could spare you for an hour or so,” Phryne continued.  
  
“No,” she insisted, and to make point, added, “Please, don’t ask me again, I can’t go.”  
  
Phyrne sensed there was much more to this than met the eyes of the beholders but pretended not to notice and said firmly to her companion, “Come along Dot, I believe it’s a lovely homestead. You and I shall go directly. You might want to hang that dress in my wardrobe on your way out. We shall see you later on this evening Isa.” and left Isa looking miserable and dejected.  
  
Once in the car, Phryne turned to Dot and asked “Whatever was that about Dot? What is the matter between Isa and Alice Middleton?”  
  
“I have no idea Miss. Isa hasn’t said a word about it.”  
  
“And Alice Middleton doesn’t attend CWA meetings when they are held at the Reach. I had thought it might have been Mrs Glover’s delusions of grandeur that had Alice Middleton offside but perhaps not. There’s something between young Isabelle and Alice Middleton.”  
  
“You don’t suppose Miss, you know how Isa told me about her boyfriend, the older man, the one who got her pregnant? You don’t suppose do you…?”  
  
“That it was James Middleton? Could well be Dot. Now how shall we find that out from this visit?”  
  
“If anyone can, you can Miss,” said Dot smiling.  
  
Phyrne drove along according to the directions she was given, following the river out of town, until the entrance to the sprawling property that was Five Creeks came into view. The homestead itself was not visible from the road so that its imposing bluestone construction was positioned with absolute privacy with views to countryside and river.  
  
They parked on the circular drive and went up to the front door, opened by a housekeeper who lead them into a grand entrance with stained glass surrounds, through a wide hallway to a sitting room, while she went to fetch Mrs Middleton. Phryne noted the well-proportioned rooms and a sense of elegance. She wandered over to the windows which gave onto an informal garden with new and established trees complete with stone walls and entry path, plus a wide veranda on three sides of the building. Further away were the storage sheds and outhouses, the scene of crime, Phryne mused. 

A small, slight woman came into the room, with rather thin mousy blond hair tied back severely into a bun, and cold, pale eyes, and a withered look on her face. She was obviously dressed for mourning, wearing a long straight black skirt and black blouse with long sleeves to her wrists which only added to the feeling of someone old for her years. She wouldn’t have been any older than Phryne herself but the contrast was remarkable – Phryne’s neat cloche hat, emphasising the bob that peeked below it, her ruby lipstick, a deep blue bias-cut dress with drop waist and loose-fitting belt hugging the contours of her body. Alice Middleton wiped her hands on her apron, removed it, and passing it to the housekeeper held out her hand to Phyrne.  
  
“Miss Fisher, how very nice to meet you. I had heard you were in town.”  
  
“I am pleased to meet you too. This is my companion, Miss Williams.”  
  
“How do you do Miss Williams. Miss Fisher, I understand we owe you a debt of gratitude for your very generous donation to our branch.”  
  
“It is my pleasure,” and before she could continue Mrs Middleton interrupted,  
  
“You don’t have any connections here. What drew you to our branch?”  
  
“I have a connection through a member of my household,” answered Phryne obliquely. “A cousin by marriage lived in the area and died, together with her baby in childbirth some years ago. I know you are raising funds that might mean such a tragedy may be averted in the future. We are here visiting members of that very same extended family that live in Bundalong.” Phryne gave such a convincing story that Alice Middleton looked slightly embarrassed. “But you have had your own tragedy I know,” Phryne went on. “I don’t want to keep you.”  
  
“Thank you. Yes, we have had a difficult few months. I don’t think we will ever get over it. But please stay for some tea. I’ve been baking with the children, they would be delighted if you tasted some of their attempts.”  
  
“Well the reason I called in was to see if I could take any of your CWA needlework or baking over to Bundalong. Mrs Tavistock, who runs the general store would be only too pleased to take some of your goods to sell, and as you will be missing the meeting tomorrow, I thought I would call in to offer.”  
  
Mrs Middleton didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded in appreciation, “They don’t have a branch there yet. What a good idea. If it’s no trouble.” She paused then continued, “Is that your own car in the driveway that you drive yourself? I thought you had come here with the policeman from the city. I understood you were working together.”  
  
The housekeeper brought in a tray of tea and various biscuits, and Dot offered to pour.  
  
“Yes, it’s my car. I love to drive and I drove here from Melbourne with Miss Williams and Mrs Tavistock’s cousin. Contrary to popular opinion I did not come here with the policeman. We happen to be staying at the same bed and breakfast, and we are acquainted. But that is where the story ends.” Then to try and keep the conversation on their accommodation, she continued, “It is quite a remarkable transformation of a homestead that Mrs Glover has made, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes,” Alice Middleton agreed with little warmth, “It has been a good business for her. She has managed to attract a very loyal clientele.”  
  
“But not your loyalty,” said Phryne quietly.  
  
Alice Middleton’s face showed little emotional response, “I choose not to go there, that’s correct.”  
  
“But your husband was a regular? With the other businessmen?”  
  
“I don’t know what business it is of yours Miss Fisher. I choose not to go, that’s all.”  
  
“I am interested in the lives of single women who must make do on their own. Mrs Glover has shown remarkable resource I believe and has created a venture for her only daughter to inherit.”  
  
Alice Middleton kept her eyes down and Phryne saw the tension rise as she clenched her jaw, and then said very deliberately, “Yes, she has. Isa is a very lucky girl; she seems to get whatever she wants.”  
  
“How will you manage this property now, on your own?” Phryne changed the subject.  
  
“I don’t know really. I can’t, I won’t manage it on my own. I am not one of the resourceful women to be of interest to you Miss Fisher. It is far too big and our manager is to leave soon. He has purchased his own property. My family is on the land too. My brothers perhaps may take care of it until my son is old enough to do so. But he is only nine. It hasn’t been decided.”  
  
“Your home is lovely. You must like living here,” persisted Phryne.  
  
“There are perhaps too many memories to stay here. But I don’t want to decide right away.”  
  
“No of course not. Losing your husband, then the whole investigation must have taken its toll.”  
  
She simply nodded. So Phryne continued, “And now to have it re-opened must be stressful too. Have you been interviewed again?”  
  
“No, why should I be?” she said defensively.  
  
“Oh,” said Phryne naively, “I just assumed all the witnesses were being interviewed again.”  
  
“Well I was hardly a witness; I should think that I should be considered another victim of the whole sordid affair.”  
  
Phryne was intrigued by her use of language, “I hope you were able to have your say in court. I am very supportive of women speaking up for themselves, particularly when they are the victims of injustice.”  
  
“No, I was in no fit state to be called. Anyway, what could I tell them? I saw nothing. Nothing but my husband, alone, lying there dead in a pool of blood.”  
  
“I am sorry Mrs Middleton. We have intruded on your time for far too long and dredged up memories that should be buried,” said Phryne kindly and stood to leave.  
  
Dot smiled sweetly and put the crockery back onto the tea tray. “I’ll take this into the kitchen. Shall I ask your housekeeper for the CWA things?” suggested Dot.  
  
“Yes, do that please Miss Williams,” responded Alice Middleton, then turning to Phryne added with some intensity, “I envy you Miss Fisher, your freedom, your independence, your resolve. But it is not flappers like you who flaunt their disdain for acceptable behaviour, who defy social norms - you won’t make this nation prosper. We need families and we need people prepared to manage the land, through good times and bad. What do you expect to leave behind you? A trail of donations to causes of your choosing? The family is our foundation, not single women who think that the world is theirs for the taking.”  
  
“Well I am not sure that you have me precisely defined Mrs Middleton, just as I doubt I have you, but let us agree to differ on the role women can have today in shaping the future.” Phryne held out her hand and Mrs Middleton shook it civilly.  
  
The Housekeeper and Dot emerged with boxes for the car, and Phryne took off, her scarf trailing in the breeze as she sped down the driveway.  
  
“Well Dot, I think you may have been right there. Our Isa and Mr Middleton may well have been an item and the baby Isa gave up, Mr Middleton’s love child. Hmmm, how interesting.”


	21. Chapter 21

In the early hours of Thursday morning, Jack knew he had to leave Phryne’s bed. It had been their third night together, their familiarity with each other growing with their contentment. Where on their first night he had feared that the experience would be his last, so leaving her was cautionary and surreptitious; on the second night she had wanted him to stay and called him noble for his leaving; now as each accepted that their nights would be spent in her bed, he wanted to experience what waking up together would be like. But he had to leave to ensure he was not found missing from his own bed, and he could hardly ask her to stay in his, as it would be impossible to get her to leave before his breakfast tray arrived.  
  
As he prepared to go he snuggled into her back and kissed her neck, “I have to go, I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
“Darling Jack,” she murmured. He was surprised at the term of endearment, and looked at her, breathing deeply, and realised she was sound asleep.  
  
Still very early, and tired from the nights of disturbed sleep and too many glasses of whiskey, he slipped beneath the sheets of his own bed and thought he would doze for an hour. He had no meetings to attend, but a lot to write up, so that could wait for a later start. He enjoyed a state of semi-consciousness to think about his situation. He had good support from Russell Street: they were willing to accept his demands for an extra man in Collins, and the meeting with Del Vecchio in Pentridge that would involve a private detective. He tried to piece together what they knew, he and Phryne together: Middleton shot dead with his own rifle in the back, with no witnesses to the event; a police investigation that left more questions than it answered; statements and versions of events that read as though they were scripted by a single hand; promotions and access to funds for Senior Constable Taylor and the property manager Jo Pike respectively; on-going arguments between Middleton and Del Vecchio reported by everyone; Alice Middleton’s spurning of Hogan’s Reach; her resentment of Phryne and women like her; Isa’s love child by Middleton; Isa’s support for Del Vecchio against the popular opinion; the protection of the community’s key players for Middleton – DI Humphreys, Dr Andrews, Mr Samuels, even Mrs Glover. He could sense that the end of the case was near but that would depend upon Phryne’s meeting with Del Vecchio.  
  
And then there was Phryne – would the end of this case end their relationship too? With a trip to Melbourne with her ahead of him, he wondered what that might bring. Would he be able to sleep with her all night long, and wake up with her? Phryne Fisher, everything he wanted her to be and more, well except for his. The thought of sharing her with any other man appalled him. He wanted her to be his and only his; yet she was a free spirit and would never be tied to anyone. “Live for the moment” said a voice inside his head. Did he have any other choice right now?  
  
A faint tapping at the door made him realise he had drifted off to sleep. “Just a minute,” he called, his voice heavy with slumber. He wrapped his robe around him, and opened the door to Isa who seeing him in a state of undress, raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I’m sorry sir. You are usually up by now,” she said apologetically but smiled at his tousled hair, his unshaven face, his rather droopy eyes, his vulnerability. He saw the smile and wondered, awkwardly, what image he presented of himself.  
  
“Don’t apologise. I’ve slept in. Come through.”  
  
“I’m not used to seeing you look like that sir, you look… different!” she seemed to be enjoying some familiarity that Jack felt inappropriate, despite her appealing dimpled grin.  
  
“Well I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Thank you Isa. You can go now.”  
  
“Can I do something more for you given you’re up late? Would you like me to prepare your clothes or run you a bath perhaps?”  
  
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable he replied, “No thank you. That’s kind of you but not necessary. I’ll manage. What I need is this tea you’ve brought me.”  
  
“Would you like me to butter your toast?” she persisted, almost wantonly.  
  
Jack was now feeling cross. He had allowed himself to sleep in, for the first time he could remember, and this was the result. A flirtatious young girl, attempting to take advantage of his exposure. He got up from the chair where he was seated on the veranda and walked back into the bedroom. She obligingly followed him back into his room, and he held the door open for her to leave. As she left, giggling, her mother walked past with an armful of bed linen and nodded a good morning at them both.  
  
“Oh my God no,” thought Jack. “She can’t possibly think, no, surely not.”  
  
Jack got himself ready for work as quickly as he could. A creature of habit, with meticulous attention to detail, and some considerable pride in his formal appearance, he was annoyed at being found wanting. He stationed himself in the library, wearing rather more formal attire than he would normally for a day without meetings, as if to compensate for his morning’s indiscretion. He wrote up as many of his notes as he could to ensure there was plenty for Collins to do on his return. He knew he’d see Phryne very little, between her run over to Bundalong to deposit Mr Butler and the CWA items, and her high tea with Mrs Samuels and the rest of her branch members, but he hoped none the less that she would call in and see him.  
  
He wasn’t disappointed and she ran in to let him know she was soon on her way. He paused and put his elbow on the desk, and rested his chin on his hand, pen in mouth, looking at her. She was beautiful. She wore a satin dress in pale grey, with a tunic top and dropped waistline; a pleated skirt fell just below her knee revealing grey stockings and shoes. Strings of long white pearls hung round her neck, with pearl droplets below each ear. Her dark grey felt cloche hat was draped with wine coloured satin around the crown detailed with a deep red flower applique that glittered with sequins and glass beads, the wine of the ribbon reflected in the deep red of her lips.  
  
She sat on the edge of his desk and leaned over to him, her face, her lips not two inches from his. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to a run over to Bundalong? I know how you love my driving.”  
  
“There are so many things you can tempt me to do Miss Fisher, but that isn’t one of them. Anyway, I want all this paperwork finished by tomorrow.”  
  
“You just want to stay here and flirt with Isa. I have it on Mrs Glover’s very good authority.”  
  
He groaned and explained what happened.  
  
“So you went back to your own bed to sleep, after you left me?” Phryne furrowed her brow in mock concern.  
  
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I must have been so tired and had so much to think about, I drifted off and didn’t wake up until the breakfast tray arrived. Anyway, no-one can accuse me of sleeping with you, if rumours abound that I have another interest.”  
  
“Would it be so bad, being accused of sleeping with me, Jack Robinson? Is that such a crime?”  
  
“No, I think I would be the envy of any man alive today. The accusation would be grand theft of the world’s most beautiful jewel.” Jack sat back in his chair to get a better view of the woman across the desk from him as she smiled at his metaphor.  
  
“I’ll be back this afternoon, ready to champion the values of the CWA.”  
  
“I suppose it’s useless my asking you to drive carefully.” She nodded in agreement. “Well, look after Mr Butler then.”  
  
She blew him a kiss and was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

The Hon Phryne Fisher was introduced to the CWA members and asked to give a short speech after the vote of thanks for her generous cheque.  
  
“Ladies, I am delighted to be here this afternoon and thank you for having me. I know the work of the CWA is of enormous benefit to women in rural Victoria and this branch is thriving. Your current project of having good obstetric facilities available for women in country hospitals, so that they can be cared for close to home, is such an important part of keeping communities together, and I am truly honoured to give my support to the work you are doing.”  
  
A round of applause followed and Phryne was pounced upon by a considerable number of women present, an assortment of young and old with connections to businesses in town as well as properties. They admired her clothes, talked of her driving all the way from the city in her own car, their good fortune in having her staying at the Reach on one of their meeting days, commented on how fortuitous it was that she had a family connection in the area, and asked about how she filled her days in Melbourne. Others held back and whispered in pairs, looking Phryne up and down, unsure of what to make of this rather extraordinary woman who had so suddenly appeared and taken centre stage. Dot was all smiles and pride in being associated with such a role model.  
  
They all sat down to high tea, served by Mrs Glover who made it known to all just on what familiar terms she and Phryne were. Mrs Samuels sat at the head of one of the tables and had Phryne sit next to her. On her other side was the wife of Dr Andrews so Phyrne asked what involvement she or her husband had at the local hospital.  
  
“My husband has a very busy practice; he is a general practitioner but also performs surgery. He attends the hospital regularly of course, one day a week, so any advancement there would be beneficial. He absolutely supports it.”  
  
“And what about you? Are you involved in your husband’s practice?”  
  
“No, I am far too busy; I have two children and this CWA work. I don’t think Dr Andrews would approve of my working at all, and certainly not for him!” she shrieked with laughter at the idea.  
  
“What about with this new medical facility for mothers and babies, do you and others in your charity work become involved when there are difficulties for some young women - single mothers, young mothers for example? I assume you are not unique here in being free of such societal issues?”  
  
Mrs Andrews shifted in her seat, “Well of course, these things can happen from time to time, but it is quite rare hereabouts. Not something that needs to occupy very much time at all. It tends to be the farm girls and those of that kind who get themselves in that unfortunate position.”  
  
“And what is done for them?” persisted Phryne.  
  
“Well I suppose for most of those girls, they take their babies back home; whether they are accepted back openly I couldn’t say.”  
  
Her companion on Phryne’s right was listening to the conversation and came to her friend’s rescue, “I am hoping you will come to us for dinner this evening Miss Fisher. My husband and I would be very pleased if you would join us.”  
  
Phryne wasn’t so pleased but thought it would be a good opportunity to see what else she could find out, by continuing the theme of mothers and babies, with a particular mother and baby in mind. Given her need to make an early start next morning, she hoped it wouldn’t be too late a night.  
  
“Oh, leaving us so soon Miss Fisher? What a pity. You’ve hardly been here at all.”  
  
“I am only going to the city on business for a day or two. My companion Miss Williams will be staying here. I plan to be back before you know it.” Mrs Samuels looked a little disappointed. She found Phryne one of the new breed of women of whom she didn’t altogether approve, but the cheque was not to be sneezed at, and she felt dinner at her home may be reassuring in keeping this woman close. So she arranged a for seven o'clock rendezvous at her home.

Dot looked in Phyrne’s wardrobe for something suitable for her to wear to dinner at the Samuels. “I think something a little flamboyant Dot, seeing as Mrs Samuels seems to disapprove.”

She selected an elegant ivory silk chiffon cocktail length dress, beaded with rhinestones, a satin underlay, and a seductively low plunge bodice covered with a sheer applique, and an asymmetric drop waist flared skirt. She added a pearl and glass necklace set in silver, set off by a hair comb inlaid with crystals.

“You do look beautiful Miss, as always,” sighed Dot.

“Thank you Dot. You know a woman must always dress to feel beautiful, no matter what others may think.” She picked a white fur stole and draped it across her chest, gave herself a light spray of perfume and went in search of Jack, who was in the library. She let him know her movements that evening and they both agreed it was an opportunity not to be missed.

“Now you know we will be leaving first thing in the morning. Does Miss Williams have your wakeup call in hand? I have managed for us to have access s to Del Vecchio early tomorrow afternoon, so we must be in Melbourne on time.”  
  
“Of course, Jack, you know me, ever reliable; and yes I suppose I’ll let Dot wake me early.” Phryne had the flair of a captivating smile, a knowing look and a sensual movement of her body, no matter what the topic, and combined all three effectively in a stunning whirl of silk, satin and sparkles as she left him to his work.  
  
She took the car the short distance to the Samuels’ home, a rather grand house with multi-coloured and tuck-pointed brickwork, the veranda ornamented with intricate iron lacework. She parked at the front and made her way up the patterned tiled entrance pathway to the arched doorway. A maid opened the door and led her into a parlour where two women were seated and two gentleman standing by a trolley with crystal drinks decanters. She recognised her hosts and the other woman a Mrs Spencer as having been at the afternoon tea, and was introduced to Mr Spencer, a local grain agent.  
  
“Miss Fisher, pleased to meet you,” said Mr Spencer, eyeing her up and down appreciatively.  
  
“What a shame you didn’t bring your inspector,” remarked his wife, “We could have made even couples.”  
  
Phryne refused to rise to the barb and responded, “I think the Inspector may be working this evening and I am sure he is being very well catered for at the Reach. And I am certain you don’t want to spend the evening talking about the investigation, you must all be heartily sick of it.”  
  
Once called to the table, conversation was a dull as Phryne anticipated (price of wheat, suitability of the weather for the up-coming sowing, Mr So-and-So’s plans for his estate, Mrs So-and-So’s health, badly brought up children, how badly cut some of the frocks had been that afternoon, how much better the country was than the city, economic downturn, and so on) and she waited for her moment to ask her questions, which came about in the course of their comment on her donation and the refurbishment of the maternity facilities.  
  
“What is done to assist single mothers in the community around here? I understood from Mrs Andrews this afternoon that it is quite uncommon. That surprises me.”  
  
“Why so, Miss Fisher?” asked Mr Spencer with a leer and wink in her direction, “You think our country morals weaker than you city folk?”  
  
“Not at all,” responded Phryne, shooting him a delightfully coquettish glance, “But you have a significant itinerant population over whom you have, I presume, little influence, alcohol is plentiful and popular, and a substantial imbalance in gender in the population - I imagine that alcohol-fuelled young men don’t think morally first and foremost on a night out.”  
  
The other two women looked taken aback and Mrs Samuels remarked, “You do speak your mind rather forcefully Miss Fisher, you may well shock us all.”  
  
“I don’t mean to, but if we all keep our heads in the sand and are shocked by such talk, I cannot imagine what the plight of young women would be who find themselves in such a situation. I am sure it must happen. And we city folk as you call us, perform extremely badly on this front as well. Adoption of course is an option available that can be very beneficial to both parties. I am very pleased to hear the new changes to adoption laws will provide rights and responsibilities to adoptive parents, and offer safety and stability to the child and the adoptive parents.”

Mr Samuels spoke up, “I disagree, it is preferable in cases like this that things be done quietly, privately and secretly. These new laws mean that things can’t be arranged unofficially, there must now be records. Far better for all concerned the way things were.”

“But how would you ensure that the child has a good home and is properly cared for, and the adoptive parents protected from any later claim for the child they consider theirs? Surely there is no protection at all at the moment.” Unbeknownst to the other guests, Phryne spoke from a position of experience.

“Those of us who know the law also know how to get around it, and I can assure you that were anyone in my line of business to be approached, we would have the right contacts to ensure everyone’s rights were protected, particularly their rights to secrecy.” 

Phryne saw her chance, “So what would you do, Mr Samuels, were you to be approached in your professional capacity, to have an unwanted child adopted into a good home?”

He was feeling confident and had had slightly too much to drink so was prepared to be expansive and exhibit his importance, “Were it me, I have my contacts in the city, I am well acquainted with distinguished lawyers in Melbourne. You may know of my colleagues, Brent and Towns, very eminent law firm, “ he emphasised, “I’d be straight on the phone to them to get it sorted. Keep government agencies and social working do-gooders well out of it.”

“Well, I am sure we all wish everyone had the kind of contacts you could provide,” said Phryne warmly then turning to her hostess said, “Thank you so much for having me Mrs Samuels, I have had a delightful evening. But I must have my beauty sleep tonight, as you know I have a very early start tomorrow.”

The rest of the party stood and wished her goodnight, as she was shown out. Once out of sight, the two women instantly raised their eyebrows, intent on criticising her forwardness, her extravagance of dress and opinions, but were defeated by an inebriated Mr Spencer, “Damn fine looking woman, don’t you think? Forthright yes, but damn fine. Refreshing to hear a woman speak her mind.” Mr Samuels nodded in consent, and the two ladies were left to withdraw to the parlour to attack their guest on their own, their vehemence exaggerated by the support she received from their husbands.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another scene to be avoided if it's not your scene. But these things happen when two people are under the one roof, even temporarily, (so I'm told).

Jack had gone to bed early after dinner, having packed a case for the trip back home. He needed to ensure he had all the files and documents for his briefing at Russell Street. He had hoped that Phryne would be back, the thought of sleeping without her frustrated him. They hadn’t arranged anything other than the early start, so he got into his own bed, leaving the French windows ajar to allow in the cool evening breeze. He thought about her as he lay there – how he loved the touch of her skin, the feel of her lips and hands, the enthusiasm of her love making, her desire to satisfy and be satisfied. And drifted off into sleep on pleasurable thoughts if not pleasurable deeds.

Phryne went to the library on her way back to her own room, to find it locked, then went to the door of his room, looking for any light showing underneath it: darkness. She shrugged her shoulders, sighed and went to her room. She changed into a negligee and prepared for bed, opening the French doors wide to look out onto the night. How much she liked Jack she thought, even more so in comparison with those boors she had had to put up with this evening. She stepped out onto the veranda and walked round to the other side of the house where his room was located, the table and chairs marking the spot in the dim light. His windows ajar, she opened them to let herself in, pushing back a curtain to let in some light from the star-lit sky. Jack seemed to be sleeping peacefully and she watched him for a moment as she became accustomed to the dimness, then drew back the sheet and slid in beside him. He stirred as she snuggled up next to him and whispered in his ear, “I thought you might wait up for me,” and kissed his shoulder. The movement against him and her soft voice stirred him from deep to light sleep, and turning towards her, subconsciously put an arm around her and ran his fingers down her back.

“Phryne,” he mumbled, as if she were in his dream.

She began kissing him from his shoulder blade to his chest, pausing to gently bite and lick his nipples, then moved her lips down over his stomach, his hips and thighs. He fell onto his back and moaned as she moved her lips over his throbbing erection, licking and sucking him to his groans of ecstasy. He gradually moved himself on top of her, fully aroused, and plunged himself into her, burying his lips into her neck as she sunk her nails into his flesh and flung her legs around him, gasping as he moved inside her, stimulating her climax with his. 

A few hours later Jack woke up and looked at the clock beside the bed, 3 am, not yet time to get up; and flopped back on his pillow. A feeling gradually came over him, a realisation, something creeping into his increasing consciousness that something had happened; he looked at the other side of the bed, empty. Had he imagined it, did Phryne come to him earlier in the night? He looked at the indent in the pillow and the sheet awry, and as he came to, remembered the way she had made love to him in his sleep-ridden state. 

Would that woman never cease to excite and amaze him?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts introducing some aspects of Jack's life that may not accord with the series. Very happy to have comment from DI Jack aficionados to correct.
> 
> There is also some inspiration from various blogs and tumblr of Jack's positions (so to speak) eg leaning in doorways.

Dorothy tapped on her mistress’ door and opened it. “It’s time to get up Miss. You need to be ready in half an hour.”

“No Dot, not yet,” croaked a tired voice.

“Here’s a cup of tea Miss. I’ve packed a bag: all you need to do is have a bath and get dressed. And you’ll be able to sleep in the car.” She walked over the windows and opened the curtains.

“Yes, Inspector Robinson does drive rather moderately,” said Phryne squinting at Dot with one eye open, then dragged herself up to a sitting position to have her tea.

“Will you be alright by yourself Dot? What will you get up to?”

“I am looking forward to time with Isa. I’ll help her out a bit and she has said she’ll take me around the town, show me the sites.”

“Excellent Dot. And before you know we will be back with Hugh.” She swung her legs out of the bed and headed off to the bathroom to get herself ready for the drive. She was rather looking forward to it, really.

Jack was waiting patiently for her downstairs. She arrived right on time, looking her usual marvellous self in white flared trousers and loose fitting long-line white cardigan over a light organza blouse. She wore a white cloche with a cluster of ivory buttons and feathers, held a pair of sunglasses in her hand and a black and white satin coat with a Chinoiserie pattern folded over her arm. Dot followed her with a small overnight bag.

“Good morning Jack! Sleep well?”

“Miss Fisher,” he nodded, swallowing hard, “Yes I believe I slept extremely well. And you?”

“Like a baby I believe.” Jack raised an eyebrow but made no comment. He took the bag from Dot, held open the car door for her, and placed her bag on the back seat.

“So, how was last night? …At the Samuels I mean.”

“Dreary, but Mr Samuels did reveal a legal firm he deals with in Melbourne, and if he were to be negotiating an adoption on someone’s behalf, that is where he would go. Brent and Towns - do you know of them?”

“Not particularly, but we can have Collins follow them up.”

“So what is our schedule?” asked Phryne.

“I imagine we will arrive in Melbourne around midday, with a stop somewhere mid trip. We have a meeting with Del Vecchio at one, and I have to brief Russell Street after that, so you might want to go home this afternoon or catch up with Mac. I can drive you wherever you need to go or we could telephone Cec or Bert to pick you up.”

“Do you know that I don’t know where home is for you Jack. Where do you live?”

“South Yarra.”

“Not Richmond?”

“No, I grew up in Richmond. But I live in a house my father bought in South Yarra.”

“How long have you lived there? Isn't it funny that I know so little about you.”

“I’ve been there just over two years. My mother always wanted a garden, so with no one left at home, my parents sold the house in Richmond, big, rambling, but in the rough part of town, and no land to speak of, and bought a much smaller one with the proceeds but with room for a garden front and back. So they left Richmond, crossed the river and bought a single story semi in South Yarra. Mum only lived in the house about three months before she died, so never got to enjoy it. Dad designed it from nothing. I used to help him with it whenever I had a spare moment and it is one of the things I like to do in my spare time.”

“So you never lived there with Rosie?”

“No.” said Jack simply.

“Why not? Where did you live with Rosie?”

“Mum and Dad were still living in Richmond when we were married. We married very young. Rosie and I rented a flat in Prahran to be near her parents in Toorak. When I went away to the war, she gave up the flat and went back to live with her parents.”

“But you lived together again after the war? When you came home?”

“Yes, of sorts, if you could call it living together.”

“So you inherited the house from your father?”

“Well my sister and I did.”

“I didn't know you had a sister!”

“Well I don’t think we've ever had the opportunity for me to tell you about her.”

“Tell me about your sister Jack Robinson.”

“She is my older sister, eight years older than I am. Her name is Catherine. She lives in Sydney, in Balmain, where her husband is a very successful ophthalmologist. She is kind, generous to a fault to everyone but herself, has a wonderful sense of humour, witty, and was my protector always.”

“Your protector?”

“Yes, at school, and among the local hooligans in Richmond, she looked out for me. She still does.”

“What, you’re still hounded by school thugs from Richmond?”

“When Dad died, he left the house to Catherine and me. She wouldn't hear of it being sold, said she didn't need her half and insisted the title be in my name. Otherwise I could never have afforded to live there on a policeman’s wages.”

“So you don't see her very much if she lives in Sydney?”

“Hardly at all and not nearly enough. We write regularly, nearly every week. I've spent the last two Christmases there with her family. I have a nephew and niece. Cath’s husband Alec runs a clinic one day a week from home when he’s not at the eye hospital, where he services those who can’t pay for eye care free of charge. Cath runs the clinic with him and then she has the children and their schools. So she rarely has time to visit here. I would like to see her more.”

“I think I would rather like your big sister Catherine.”

“I think you would too.”

“Do you think she would like me?” asked Phryne rather coyly.

“I think she would like you very much,” Jack responded definitely.

“Can I see your house in South Yarra when we get to Melbourne?”

“If you like.”

Just after midday they drew up in front of Jack’s home, a simple but charming single-fronted semi-detached brick house, with cast iron lacework across the veranda and balustrades, a slate roof and timber eaves.  
  
There was something between embarrassment and pride in Jack as he opened the gate to show her his home. They walked into a garden enclosed by a hedge, behind which an array of textures and pastel colours fought for supremacy. Rose bushes and lavender wrestled for space with gardenias and camellias, bordered by stock and cornflowers. A miniature climbing rose rambled up the balustrades and across the porch, where two large tubs overflowed with hydrangeas. It quite took her breath away, “Jack, it’s beautiful!”  
  
He led her to the front door and unlocked it to allow her to go in before him. A hallway led past two small bedrooms, the first he obviously used as a study. He took off his coat and hat and hung them on the rack just inside the doorway, then took Phryne’s and hung hers alongside his. The study had one entire wall with shelves built in, with volumes of books, folders and magazines neatly ordered; two worn leather club chairs sat on a faded oriental rug covering the polished floor boards. His desk looked out through double windows onto the front garden.  
  
“So this is where the work away from work happens?”  
  
“Yes, that and I do read and listen to music for leisure occasionally Miss Fisher,” he responded.  
  
“And write to Catherine and others?”  
  
“That too.”  
  
They walked back down the hallway, Jack going past the room that was his bedroom. Phryne was not to be denied, and walked in. Like the study it was neat and rather masculine but not bland; it had a certain character that was Jack. The bedside tables had a pair of elegant reading lamps with fluted columns, and there was a small pile of books on one. A watercolour of a misty countryside hung on one wall, and a chest of drawers had two sepia photographs, one of a bride and groom and the other, two children. Phryne picked them up immediately.  
  
“Your parents? And that must be you and Catherine? Jack you haven’t changed one bit. You were as serious and formal then as you are now.”  
  
“I don’t think you were allowed to smile in those days,” he took the photos from her and put them back in their places. He moved to leave the room but Phryne instead moved over to the bed and sat on the edge, and crossed her legs, spreading one hand over the blue and white candlewick counterpane and looked up at him coquettishly, “Rosie never lived here, so has this bed been christened yet?”  
  
“What do you mean? I sleep in it every night,” said Jack leaning against the door frame, with his eyes rather than his lips revealing the hint of a smile.  
  
“I was just wondering, as it’s a double bed, and you obviously sleep on that side,” she pointed to the bedside table with the books, “whether this side has ever been slept in?”  
  
“You know very well that a gentleman never tells, Miss Fisher.” He walked out of the room and Phryne followed wondering when she would have a chance to explore every corner of the landscape that was Jack Robinson.  
  
The hallway opened out into a lounge room then an eat-in kitchen, each neatly proportioned, simply but tastefully furnished for comfort rather than formality.  
  
“Come and see the back garden,” he held out his hand to her and she took it. It was a large back garden, at least twice the size of the front. The courtyard with an outdoor table and chairs was covered in a trellis that was a mass of the white and purple flowers and shiny green leaves of a passion fruit vine, and led onto a curved lawn edged by a brick path lined with agapanthus and rhododendrons. Fruit trees enclosed the fences, obscuring a small garden shed beside a vegetable patch.  
  
“So your father designed all this?”  
  
“Yes, we built the trellis together, laid the slate for the courtyard. I‘ve tried to keep the design as he wanted it although I’ve changed a few things. I used to really like coming here when I could and help him.”  
  
“So you were close?”  
  
“Yes, I suppose we were in a way. He was a man of very few words, so we didn't talk very much. We could work for hours out here sometimes, not saying very much at all, but enjoying each other’s company. If that makes sense.”  
  
“So it would have been hard for you to give this place up, if Catherine hadn’t helped you?”  
  
“I never really thought it would be mine, but now it is I would find it hard to give up.”  
  
They were interrupted by a voice calling from the front of the house, where they had left the door open, so Jack went back inside.  
  
“Mr Robinson!”  
  
“Hello Mrs Thompson, how are you?” said Jack. “This is a colleague, Miss Fisher, Miss Fisher, this is my neighbour Mrs Thompson.”  
  
Mrs Thompson nodded but seemed anxious, “I didn't think you were coming back so soon, so I haven’t got you any milk or ordered more ice.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I wasn't expecting to be back and I’ll get some milk from round the corner if I need any.”  
  
“I’ve got your latest mail,” she said, handing over a pile of letters. “Isn't it a lovely garden Miss Fisher? It’s the envy of everyone in the street.”  
  
“Yes, I can imagine. It’s so beautiful.”  
  
“Old Mr Robinson, Jack’s father, it was his pride and joy.”  
  
“So have you lived here long Mrs Thompson?” asked Phryne. “It is a lovely part of town.”  
  
“Yes, all my life really. We were a bit cramped when the children were growing up, but I'm on my own now, like Mr Robinson here, so there’s plenty of room. So are you staying overnight?”  
  
Phryne and Jack answered “Yes” and “No” simultaneously, looked uncomfortable, then both promptly reversed their first answers.  
  
“We’re…I'm here only overnight probably, leaving again tomorrow or Sunday,” explained Jack. “Miss Fisher lives in St Kilda.”  
  
“All right then. Give me a shout when you’re off so I know to look out for you again.”  
  
“Thank you Mrs Thompson, I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Nice meeting you Mrs Thompson.”  
  
They went back into the house. “We need to leave soon to be at Pentridge by one. Would you like some tea, you’ll need to drink it black or with some lemon?”  
  
“Tea with lemon would be perfect.”  
  
“I’ll bring it out to you,” Jack indicated the back courtyard. Phryne sat at the table looking out at the garden, bewildered, bemused, fascinated at this side of Jack she simply hadn’t known. He had been to her home so many times, she had simply imagined that Jack and his own home did not co-exist, that he lived in a bunker or didn't live anywhere at all. He brought out a tea tray, put it on the table, then walked into the garden, picked a lemon off one of the trees and returned to slice it for their tea.  
  
“A man of so many talents Jack.”  
  
“Yes, you didn’t think I could slice a lemon, and now you see, I can.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for translations (1) (2) (3)

Pentridge was an imposing, austere building, built in the style of a medieval castle, with a crenelated parapet, a large pointed arched gateway and octagonal towers, the bluestone walls and narrow barred windows adding to its grimness.  
  
“Containment and order,” said Jack as Phryne shuddered.  
  
They went through a seemingly endless process of identity checks and consulting of large registers, with each guard and official eyeing Phryne up and down as they progressed down narrow depressing corridors. Ultimately they were shown into an interview room where they waited for Sergio Del Vecchio.  
  
“You’ve got half an hour,” said the latest in the line-up of warders. Phryne looked at Jack.  
  
“If we need longer, I will let you know,” said Jack.  
  
Sergio Del Vecchio was young, not more than twenty, with olive skin and dark hair, cropped short, presumably for his current situation. His dark eyes that may have looked like a film star’s looked hollow as he shuffled into the room. He sat at the table and kept his eyes downwards.  
  
Jack stayed in the corner of the room with his notebook. Phryne commenced softly but deliberately,  
  
“Mi chiamo Phryne Fisher. Ti vorrei aiutare. Sergio, so che sei nei guai, e forse potrò aiutarti. Sono una amica. Lavoro in proprio, sono un investigatore privato.” (1)  
  
He looked at her, then at Jack, and shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.  
  
“È un amico, e mi fido di lui allora puoi fidarti anche tu. ” (2)  
  
“Can you tell me about what happened on 12 December? The night Mr Middleton was shot?” Phryne looked at him seriously but kindly and spoke gently, so he was moved to answer.  
  
“I go there with my friends. I see him. He shout at me. That’s it.”  
  
“Why did he shout at you?”  
  
“He no like. He shout go away.”  
  
“Why didn’t he like you?”  
  
“He say I make trouble. Make trouble for everyone.”  
  
“Did you make trouble for everyone Sergio?”  
  
“No, just ask more money. Work many hours every day and not enough money for sleeping, eating. Just need little bit more money.”  
  
“When he told you to go away, did you?”  
  
“Yes, I go to my friends but he shouting and shouting. He say I keep away and not touch girlfriend.”  
  
“Which girlfriend was that Sergio? Was that Isa he was talking about?”  
  
At Isa’s name, his manner changed slightly. He sat more upright and looked more intently at Phryne, “You know her?”  
  
“Yes I do. I think she misses you and is upset for you. She is very nice and very pretty.”  
  
“Yes she very nice. I not touch her like Mr Middleton say, just talk to her, just smile and laugh, not touch her like he say.”  
  
“Why was Mr Middleton concerned about Isa? Do you know?”  
  
“Yes he shouting I have to go away from her. Isa, she say he very important man but she no like him anymore. She like me.”  
  
“So when Mr Middleton told you to go away, and you went over to your friends, what happened then?”  
  
“Mrs Middleton she come to him and she shout at me and she shout at her husband. She have the gun, she shoot him. I run away, I run away with my friends.”  
  
Phryne and Jack exchanged glances. Sergio looked furtively at them both.  
  
Jack said quietly, “It’s all right Sergio. Go on. This is very important.”  
  
“That’s it. I run away with my friends. Next day policeman come and he say I shoot Mr Middleton.”  
  
“What did they ask you? Where did they take you?” resumed Phryne.  
  
“They no ask me anything, they just say and say that I shoot Mr Middleton. I go with them to the police station.”  
  
“What did they do at the police station? Did they take your finger prints? Did they write anything down when you were speaking to them?”  
  
“Yes, take finger prints, take clothes. They write, I sign papers. They say I shoot but I say I not know how to shoot. I not know how to shoot gun of Mr Middleton. They give me gun, say show how to shoot this gun, but I not know how to shoot this gun.”  
  
“So they gave you Mr Middleton’s gun to hold?”  
  
“Yes a gun. I not know if gun of Mr Middleton. Maybe same, maybe different.”  
  
“Was there anyone with you at the police station, a friend? Someone who you could speak to in Italian?”  
  
“Not this day. Maybe another day.”  
  
The warder came in and announced their time was up.  
  
“Just a little longer,” said Jack in the voice that wasn’t to be questioned.  
  
Sergio looked desperately at Phryne, understanding that she was leaving.  
  
“You help me, please.” He started crying.  
  
“Sergio, tell me the names of your friends. I need to contact them. The friends who were there on the night, the friends who ran away with you.”  
  
He listed some names, “But I not know where to find them. They go after this. No more work for them. But maybe you find them in another place. You ask Ricci Lombardi in Carlton. He from my mother village in Italy. He find them. Please, you come back please.”  
  
“Sergio, I will do everything I can for you. Don’t cry. The other prisoners will see you and make more trouble for you if they see you are crying. Lo so che sei innocente!” (3)  
He promptly wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, before being escorted away.  
  
Phryne and Jack left in silence, not wanting to be overheard until they were out of the entire complex and back in his car.  
  
“I think he’s telling the truth Jack,” said Phryne simply.  
  
“So do I.”  
  
After a moment he continued, “Now where would you like to go? Can I drop you at home? I need to be at Russell Street quite soon.”  
  
“Can I go back to your place and wait for you there? There’s no-one at my home.”  
  
“Yes, all right. But I’ll be a while, several hours I imagine.”  
  
“I don’t mind. If I can use your telephone, I want to telephone Janey at Aunt Prue’s, and Mac. Then we can talk about what to do next when you’re back.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) “My name is Phryne Fisher and I would like to help you. I know you are in trouble but I may be able to help. I am a friend. I work alone, I’m a private detective.”
> 
> (2) “He’s a friend and I trust him. You can trust him too.”
> 
> (3) I know you are innocent.


	26. Chapter 26

Phryne made her telephone calls and got rather different reactions from the parties involved. Janey urged her to hurry back as Aunt Prue was far too pedantic about her doing her homework to perfection, and Mac said she was happy to offer her a repeat on her prescription and was very pleased that the medication was having the required effect.  
  
Having done that, Phryne set to work exploring Jack’s home. She wandered through the study, looking at his choice of books and magazines, looked at the letters Mrs Thompson had delivered earlier that day – one in particular took her eye, the envelope written in a rather nice hand. It was from a Mrs A O’Connell and an address in Balmain. Catherine, she thought. Then into the lounge, where she was impressed with his choices of fabrics for the furnishings, the lighting, prints and pictures. She opened and closed cupboard doors in the kitchen and bathroom then started on the bedroom, thinking that she would leave the best til last.  
  
His wardrobe was as she expected and she felt she recognised the suits and ties hanging in there, then she turned to the chest of drawers, opening each one, looking for what she didn’t quite know. In the bottom drawer, she found what she didn’t know she was looking for. A picture frame face down, one she had seen before, a young Jack and Rosie, a smiling couple. Phryne felt her stomach turn as she looked closely at the picture. They both looked so happy. Why shouldn’t they be, she asked herself. Young marrieds should be happy. But I only want him to be happy with me, she argued back. My goodness, where did that thought come from? She quickly put the frame back in the drawer as if to stop her ridiculous train of thoughts running wild, then noticed the items of clothing and a purse beneath the picture frame. Definitely not items of men’s clothing. She carefully lifted out some cream satin underwear and a negligee. It was very good quality she could tell straight away by the fineness of the lace and the softness of the silk. In the purse was a vial of perfume, a toothbrush and some body lotion. This was definitely overnight stay kit. Jack had said that Rosie had never lived here. So who do these belong to? Did he still see Rosie? She remembered his comment when she had asked him about the other side of the bed. Maybe there had been or still was someone else. She sat back on her heels. Well you brought this upon yourself Phryne Fisher she told herself, that’s what comes from prying. But if nothing else could be concluded it was that this man was an enigma.  
  
She wondered what they would do about supper and decided on a course of action that would entertain the next hour or so. She picked up her handbag, put on her hat and coat, and went next door to Mrs Thompson’s, who was surprised to see her.  
  
“Hello again Mrs Thomson,” Phryne smiled, “I need some provisions. Can you tell me where the local store is?”  
  
“Yes of course my dear. I was going there myself later on. I’ll get my coat and come with you. Come in.” Phryne stepped into the hallway and looked about the home that was the other half of Jack’s semi. It was crowded with memories, with pictures and photographs, ornaments and oddments on every surface.  
  
“Right, here we go,” she said. “How has your visit been?”  
  
“It was rather depressing actually,” said Phryne, “we had to visit a young man in prison.”  
  
“Oh dear me, what a shame. It must be such a difficult job you do. I think that of young Mr Robinson. All that police work. That’s all you deal with isn’t it? Depressing things.”  
  
“Not always. There are some good stories too. Lost and found, good overcoming evil, that kind of thing.”  
  
“Yes I suppose,” said Mrs Thompson dubiously, then said. “But I’m very pleased you’re here for young Mr Robinson. It worries me him living on his own like that, with all those difficult dealings he has. No-one to come home to. Reminds me of his father. Mrs Robinson was not here a few months before she died and old Mr Robinson was here on his own. He was sad on his own, I know. He used to look forward to young Mr Robinson coming round, he told me so. But young Mr Robinson, he’s got no wife any more, children, no-one at all.”  
  
“So he never has any visitors?”  
  
“Not so much as I can tell. He’s out all hours. Policemen sometimes seem to call, but no-one social. So I’m very pleased to see you my dear. I hope you can look after him.”  
  
“Well we are colleagues, friends and colleagues, Mrs Thompson. And I have a home of my own. I don’t know that I can look after him in the way you think appropriate, but I do plan to make him supper tonight.”  
  
“Well that’s a start isn’t it? And after that who knows?” Mrs Thompson appeared unfazed by the forwardness of the opinion she was expressing; the entitlement of old age.  
  
At the general store, Phryne bought milk, a half loaf of bread, butter, and eggs and insisted on paying for the items in Mrs Thompson’s basket.  
  
“Please allow me, Mrs Thompson. Let it be a thank you for coming out with me, and for your looking out for our mutual friend.”  
  
“Nonsense, he pays me very well for doing for him, and he keeps everything so neat and tidy, there’s not much to it. But thank you my dear.”  
  
Back at the house Phryne got to work. She went out into the garden and picked flowers and divided them up for vases. She looked in various cupboards but didn’t find any vases at all. Fancy having a garden so full of flowers and no vases to put them in marvelled Phryne, looking out some empty bottles, jars and jugs. She chose a small jam jar for a spray of cornflowers and gardenias, and set them on the chest of drawers in the bedroom, reflecting the blue and white of the counterpane, and a bottle for a tall arrangement in the hallway. For the kitchen table, she chose a jug and heaped in an eclectic collection of pinks and purples – roses, camellias, lavender and stock. She looked admiringly at her work, adjusting the placement of particular stems until they were just right.  
  
She went into the back garden down to the vegetable patch and picked out a lettuce and some herbs – chives and parsley. That will do very well she thought. She set the table then looked for an apron so that she could prepare the food, and finding none, pinned a tea towel around her waist and beat eggs, sliced bread, washed and drained the lettuce, then mixed a combination of oil and vinegar for a dressing.  
  
She went into the bathroom and touched up her hair and make-up, then flopped down in a lounge chair, suddenly feeling quite tired, curling her feet underneath her, leaned her head on her arm and thought she would rest a while until Jack returned from Russell Street. She realised she was doing exactly what Mrs Thompson had said, being there for him when he came home.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter owes a debt of gratitude to writers of fanfic who have told stories that look into the effects of WW1 on Jack as a returned soldier. One particular fact (Rosie's brother) I am sure is from fanfic, not the TV series. There was always the intention to have a scene around this topic, but I know many have written beautifully around this theme.
> 
> Hope it reads for what it's meant to ie not melodramatic or kitsch.
> 
> More leanings against objects.

It was early evening when she was roused by the sound of the key in the lock and Phryne got up to meet Jack who came in with his hat in his hand and a box of papers under the other arm.  
  
“Hello,” she smiled and took his hat and coat and hung them on the coat rack in the study as she had seen him do earlier in the day.  
  
“What’s this? Flowers.” He said going past the hall stand.  
  
“Do you like them?”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“I couldn’t find a single vase in the house.”  
  
“No, I don’t suppose I have one. And in the bedroom too I see, very nice. Goodness!” was the reaction when he got to the large jug of pastels, and the set table in the kitchen.  
  
“I haven’t been idle as you can see.”  
  
“No I wouldn’t have expected that of you at all. So have you been preparing dinner? I didn’t know you could cook.”  
  
“Well one thing I did learn from my time in Paris was how to cook the perfect omelette, so its omelette aux fines herbes avec salade verte, (from your very own garden) et du pain, naturellement!” she held her hand out to display her preparations. “How was Russell Street?”  
  
“Difficult. Shall I open a bottle of wine?” He walked to a sideboard in the lounge room and took out two glasses, a bottle of red and cork screw.  
  
“Why difficult?”  
  
“Because it’s all a bit ambiguous. They know something has gone wrong and it needs to be sorted out, but because it means criticism of our own – men, processes, procedures, they actually don’t want that side of things unearthed. There will be disciplinary hearings, consequences for individuals and the service. So there’s a dilemma, fix things up but keep Victoria Police out of the firing line if you can help it,” he sighed.  
  
“But that won’t be possible will it?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so. Well, it doesn’t appear that way.”  
  
“But they are still supportive of the work you’re doing?”  
  
“Yes, of course, they have to be. It’s just they don’t like what they’re hearing, particularly if it is going to be reported in the papers. So they argue every note, and try and justify the way things were done, so it becomes a tedious meeting of challenging whether there really is a case to answer. They accept that there is, but need to go through the motions of testing every point.”  
  
He put the wine on the table and leant against the dresser and watched her prepare the omelette and dress and turn the salad. She looked over at him watching her, a brightness in his eyes, the slightly raised eyebrow, an even slighter lift at the edges of his mouth. When she turned back to her work, she didn’t notice the shadow fall across his face.  
  
How had this happened he wondered? How was it that Phryne Fisher was cooking him dinner in his own kitchen? The order he had forced into his life, the stability he was so determined to preserve, the sense of equilibrium he worked so hard to maintain, were tipping dangerously close to imbalance and the road from there, that was the road towards disorder. Beneath the surface of order and stability were all the things he had trained himself to bury: the marriage too early, the horrors of the war, the misunderstandings, the failures of his relationships on his return. They could stay buried if he kept his life as it was, the course he was on. But it could so easily unravel, that suppressed life and his life now in collision. And it was her doing. Friendly banter at first, he could cope with that; then there was attraction, that made things less sure; then there was an interlude, a silence, out of sight; and now this affair. She chipped away at the rock that was his life support system. Where was it going now, apart from that road to chaos?  
  
“So we need to follow up with those who may be able to provide supporting witness statements for Sergio. And how on earth could we get evidence against Alice Middleton, apart from the witnesses for the defence?” queried Phryne, bringing Jack back to the absolute present, and putting dinner on the table.  
  
“We would need Isa to come clean about her relationship with James Middleton and how it was discovered. There’s her father’s family. Aren't they in Carlton too? They may know some of the detail of the adoption, and links with who it was who was involved at the Yarrawonga end. I’m not sure how far we can push Dr Andrews, but it may well be that Alice Middleton’s hysteria for which he treated her was because she shot her husband and Andrews needed to take control of the situation by sedating her. That needs to be established. And we need to see if DI Humphreys had knowledge of what really happened.”  
  
“Isn't there enough for a miscarriage of justice anyway, based on the irregularities of the investigation in the first place?”  
  
“Probably, but there would still be the demand for justice for James Middleton, even if we were able to have Del Vecchio’s conviction overturned.” He paused, “This omelette is really good.”  
  
“Beware Jack, that if I ever cook for you again, it will be a variation on a theme. I have been known to make omelettes that include onions, or even potatoes,” she smiled at him in the seductive way that always made him feel slightly self-conscious but always stirred.  
  
“I had better plant some onions and potatoes then, just in case there is a next time.”  
  
They cleared the table and Jack washed up, with Phryne drying, neither daring to comment on how much a picture of domestic felicity their actions presented. They took the remainder of the wine into the lounge.  
  
“Will you stay tonight?” asked Jack.  
  
“Would you like me to?”  
  
“Yes of course I would. I want to wake up next to you. Not sneak off into the night as if we were being immoral.” He put his hand out to her and touched her cheek.  
  
“I don’t think I have any sleepwear packed. Dot would have assumed I was sleeping at home.” Phryne was never one to avoid an opportunity to satisfy a suspicion.  
  
“Do you need to wear anything?”  
  
“Modesty Jack. What if I should need to go to bathroom or Mrs Thompson came to the door and needed a cup of sugar? Don’t you have a shirt I could wear?”  
  
“I may have something better than that.”  
  
“Really Jack, you surprise me! What?”  
  
“Cath left a change of clothes here some time ago, I suppose it must have been the last time she was down. I’m sure there would be something amongst her things you could borrow. I’ll show you shortly. Let’s finish the wine first.”  
  
So they are Catherine’s, Phryne mused, why didn't I think of her?  
  
“Shall we chase up the Carlton connection tomorrow, find Ricci Lombardi and possibly even Isa’s father’s family?”  
  
“I’ll go and see Collins in the morning, he can do some of the research and leg work. We don’t know if Isa’s father’s family will go by the surname Glover, could be the father’s sister. But we should look into it.”  
  
“Poor Sergio, he looked so young. He couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty, and accused of murder. To be so young and be in that position; and in a foreign country too, away from his family, with no one supporting him. There wouldn't be many young men in a position like that I imagine.” He didn't respond, so she looked over at him and saw a darkening in his look, a tightening of his jaw, a furrowing of the brow. “What is it Jack, what’s the matter?”  
  
Jack looked down into his wine glass, swirled the contents, finished the remainder, and shook his head. He refilled the glass.  
  
“Tell me,” she persisted quietly. There was no response. “You know you can tell me anything. It can’t be that bad can it?” He heard the slight strain in her voice. She noticed a shift in his bearing and knew he was about to speak.  
  
“When I was his age, I was married and had gone to war, and in a foreign country too, and may as well have been in his position; murdered many people, just wasn’t accused of it.” He took another mouthful from his glass.  
  
“You know it’s not the same. I was there too, Jack. I understand.”  
  
He paused before continuing, “Your job was to heal, to repair, to help us. Mine was the opposite. And I and all the others in my unit were as young and naïve as Del Vecchio, we had no idea what we were meant to be doing. We thought we were headed for glory, representing our King and country. And it was just a hell on earth.”  
  
She reached out and touched his hand but he didn't respond to her. He was in another zone.  
  
“They put us, lightly armed men, against German heavy machine guns. Our training was passing through gas-filled trenches wearing these extraordinary gasmasks; or marching miles on cobbled roads in France; or we were taught how to lie down and not panic when faced with the gushing jet of a German flamethrower. That was it, that was training.”  
  
“For the trenches? I saw the trenches Jack.”  
  
“They were a shambles. The mud that squelched up to your knees, the fat corpse-fed rats that ran in gangs between our legs and over our feet, looking for their next meal, their obscene squeaking; the disgusting stench of bodies – if you took all the meat from all the butcher’s shops, and threw all the pieces around, it would give you a very faint picture of what those trenches were... the flies, the chaotic orders. What were we being ordered to do? Go out there and kill people. Kill people like you and me.”  
  
Phryne felt she needed to offer something but she didn't know what. There was no use stating the worn epithet, that they were doing their duty. “I do know what it was like, seeing the men, young men, coming in from the battlefields every day with horrific injuries, the terrible impact of explosives on human flesh, many that we knew couldn't be operated on. The looks on their faces, pleading for something, a miracle or to be put out of their misery. Seeing them leave again, some of them patched up and sent back to the fields, others maimed horribly, their lives changed forever – without eyes, without limbs, without faces that resembled human beings.”  
  
Jack nodded. “And then there were those of us who came back in one piece, and that was only by sheer luck – being absent from a particular piece of the scenery when it came under fire. It was as if we were guilty of having survived. That there must have been something wrong with our service if we came back unscathed, physically at least.”  
  
“Was that what drove you and Rosie apart?”  
  
Jack nodded. “I came back, her brother didn’t. It was as if somehow I was responsible for his death, by living. She resented the fact that I was alive. I think she thought it should have been me. The marriage was probably over anyway, cracks at first, then a chasm. Neither of us could cross it.”  
  
“Did you talk to anyone? Did you not have someone who went through similar circumstances?”  
  
Jack shook his head. “It wasn't done. No-one talked about it. You just got on with your job, if you had one. I was lucky again, I had a job to come back to. So, I was really fortunate – job, marriage, all my body parts.”  
  
“What about your parents? You didn't talk to them?”  
  
“To my mother, never. I remember Dad asked me when I got back: “How was it son?” and I just said “It was horrible” and he put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it; that was it, we never spoke of it again.” Jack covered his head with his hands, then dragged them down his face and repeated, “God, it was horrible.” Minutes went past.  
  
He looked over at Phryne, “You look tired, why don’t you go to bed. Those things of Cath’s are in one of the drawers in the bedroom.”  
  
“Aren’t you coming?”  
  
“Not yet. I’ll be there soon. In a little while.”  
  
Phryne left him, feeling that was what he had asked her to do, and went into the bedroom and changed into the negligee that she had found earlier. She thought up several excuses to walk past him, to the bathroom, to the kitchen for some water, but he kept his back to her, sitting motionless in the armchair in the lounge, a bottle of whisky next to the empty bottle of wine. She went into the bedroom and sat on top of the bed, her arms hugging her knees. She felt awkward, out of place, as if she shouldn’t be there. She felt like an intruder trespassing on his personal misery. She contemplated ringing Cec and Bert and asking them to come and collect her, or perhaps knocking on Mrs Thompson’s door and asking if she could stay there. But shouldn’t she stay to make sure he was all right? She certainly wasn’t going to go to sleep, she was wide awake. She sat still listening for any sign of movement. Eventually she heard him getting up and turning out the lights in the lounge, and walk towards the bedroom, but he didn’t come in, he went past it and into the study.  
  
Jack sat at his desk in the study and opened the letter from Cath. It was full of the latest anecdotes of family and work at the clinic. She wrote with style and wit which made him smile. He wanted to write to her and say he had someone in her night gown sleeping in his bed tonight but he was too tired and drunk to pick up a pen. I’ll write and tell her tomorrow he thought, she’d like that. He felt sick, his head hurt and he started hearing gun fire and explosions around him. He gritted his teeth and put his hands over his ears to block out the sound, but that only seemed to magnify it. He staggered up and out of the room to escape.  
  
Phryne heard him come into the bedroom, where her eyes had adjusted to the dark; she watched him undress, the volume of alcohol he’d drunk ensuring his movements were slow and unsteady, completely unaware of her sitting up on the bed watching him. He walked down to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running followed moments later. After what seemed an eternity with the noise of water still running, she made her way quietly to the bathroom door and listened. To her distress the water only partially disguised the sound of uncontrolled sobbing. She sat down against the door, leaning her body against it and rested her hands on the door, “Jack” she murmured softly, hoping that somehow her presence outside the door would ease the pain, console his grief.  
  
Slowly the sounds of his anguish subsided and the shower was turned off; she tiptoed back to the bedroom and slid into the bed, and lay there rigid with anxiety. She was not a woman to feel defeated, no situation ever overwhelmed her, but that was exactly how she felt, devastated that there was nothing she could do and she was in the way.  
  
Minutes later he got into bed beside her. She sensed how cold he was from the shower. He reached over for her and drew her to him, to the position she loved, her head nestled against his chest, his cheek resting on her head, his arms around her. He held her so tightly she could feel the fierce pounding of his heart, the heaving of his chest, his breath on her hair. In time his body warmed, his heart beat slowed, his arms slackened, his intake of air lightened and she realised he was asleep. “Thank you,” she breathed to some being unknown.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene warning – to be skipped for those who would rather not. It is a quickie (the length of the chapter I mean).

Magpies and koels woke Phryne early next morning when it was still dark. She could smell the heady perfume of the gardenias she had put in the jar on the dressing table and slowly let her eyes adjust to the dark and unfamiliar room. She turned over and looked at Jack, still asleep, lying on his back. His hair was tousled, his lips turned down, his face troubled as if having a bad dream. She lay on her side watching him, dozing, watching him.  
  
After some time and as the room lightened with the dawn Jack opened his eyes, he needed several attempts, rubbing away the sleep that clouded them; and rolled over towards her. She was awake; he could see her eyes on him. He reached out his hand and ran it down her cheek, then tucked a few loose hairs of her bob behind her ear and followed the line of her chin with his finger. She kissed his finger as he did so. He leaned further towards her and kissed her lips lightly, holding her face with both hands. He kissed her again and again but not deeply and passionately, neither with urgency nor fierce desire, it was intimate, and gentle as if he didn’t want her to break. She put her hands on his chest and kissed him back, as delicately and slowly as he had done. His hands then his lips wandered down to her neck, then her shoulders, his touch as if she were made of glass. He ran his fingers down the silk fabric of the negligee, then slid his hands up underneath it, stroking her skin with the lightest of caresses, then drawing her beneath him. The delicacy sent shivers over Phryne’s body. She cradled his hips between her thighs and held him close, running her fingers through his hair, down his neck and back as he entered her. He was tender and warm and she inhaled sharply as she found his rhythm, their bodies slowly moving in harmony, until measure was overtaken by abandon, restraint by desire: she groaned and he buried his face in her neck and sighed. They had not exchanged a single word since the evening before. Neither needed to.


	29. Chapter 29

In the kitchen, they toasted the last of the bread from the evening before and made tea, strong and milky. Jack took several headache powders.  
  
“Phryne, about last night, …” commenced Jack, but Phryne was prepared,  
  
“Jack, you don’t need to say anything. Youknow you can tell me anything, anything at all and know it will be in confidence. I know my experience wasn’t the same as yours, but it wasn’t easy. I can understand what you went through. You have to believe me.”  
  
He nodded, “Thank you.”  
  
“So, now, what is on our agenda?”  
  
“I have to meet with Collins. He can look up possible locations in Carlton for us – Ricci Lombardi, possibly a Glover connection, and we could find the firm of lawyers Samuels mentioned, Brent and Towns, and see what they can supply in relation to the adoption of Isa’s baby. So, do you want to come with me to the station?”  
  
“Yes please. I want to see all your men welcome you with open arms, and meet the irascible Acting Inspector Livingstone.”  
  
“Well I can guarantee the second. You have high hopes for the first.”  
  
They went out to the car, and saw Mrs Thompson sweeping her front path, dressed in her dressing gown and slippers.  
  
“Good morning Mrs Thompson,” called Phryne, Jack tipped his hat.  
  
“Oh good morning my dear. Isn’t it a lovely day? How was your supper last night Mr Robinson?”  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow and replied, “It was excellent thank you.”  
  
“Miss Fisher and I went to the shops together,” she explained. “Now you two have a successful day,” she stood, leaning on her broom, and waved them off.  
  
At the station, Jack was indeed enthusiastically received, with officers coming up and shaking his hand and commenting, “Good to see you sir” “How are things going sir?” “Looking forward to seeing you back sir.” None more so than Hugh Collins, “Thank you for asking me onto the case sir. Miss Fisher, how are you? How’s Dotty? I’ve got my bag sir, ready to go.”  
  
Acting DI Livingstone was unimpressed with the attention, and ordered his men back to work. Jack introduced him to Phryne. And she shot him one of her most charming smiles, “Inspector Livingstone I presume?”  
  
“I’m sorry, your involvement Miss Fisher? I don’t think I quite understand,” he sneered.  
  
I like a man so true to type, thought Phryne.  
  
“Miss Fisher is working with me, George. She has some useful contacts in the Yarrawonga area.”  
  
“So what is she doing here? Apart from distracting the men away from their work.”  
  
Phryne did like to rise to such gibes, “Well I think the distraction was actually DI Robinson, and I was … just passing.”  
  
“Now, Miss Fisher, while I meet briefly with Acting DI Livingstone, perhaps you might like to see if Collins can find those contact details we need.”  
  
Livingstone opened his mouth to object, but Jack had already ushered Phryne towards Collins’ desk, and indicated with his arm that he intended going into his old office with the acting inspector.  
  
Phryne sat with Collins and before she could explain their mission, was inundated with questions about his fiancée.  
  
“All in good time Hugh. She is very well and looking forward to seeing you, but if we can’t locate some of these people today, we will not get on the road early enough for you to see her.”  
  
They had success locating the law firm, a possible address and a place of work for Ricci Lombardi and three possibilities for the Glover connection.  
  
“The trickiest one will be the law firm, they may give us the silent treatment,” said Jack.  
  
“Can’t they be subpoenaed to give evidence?”  
  
“Yes, if and when it gets to court. We need the evidence before that. And you don’t think the others could be the same?” said Jack. “I can’t imagine any of these people will willingly want to give us anything at all. Let’s hope Sergio’s friends are true friends indeed.”

  


The first stop was Carlton, PC Collins was sent to various addresses to see if any of the Glovers listed had the connections they were looking for. Phryne and Jack went to a greengrocer’s they believed to be run by Ricci Lombardi.  
  
The greengrocer’s shop on Argyle Place was quite busy when they arrived. It appeared to be a meeting place for a number of men, seated on make-shift chairs of fruit and vegetable crates around equally temporary tables. They seemed to have no interest in buying fruit and vegetables, but were chatting, drinking coffee and enjoying one another’s company.  
  
Jack spoke first, “We are looking for Ricci Lombardi. Can any of you help us please?”  
  
They all looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders, shook their heads, and went back to their coffee and discussion.  
  
“Your turn, Miss Fisher.”  
  
“Signori, devo aiutare Sergio Del Vecchio! E lui ha anche bisogno dell' aiuto di Signor Lombardi. Prego Loro, per cortesia, di pensarci. E` importante.” (1)  
  
A man got up from the table and indicated to them that they should go through to the back of the shop.  
  
“I am Ricci Lombardi,” he held out his hand to them both, “I know he is in trouble.”  
  
Phryne continued, “DI Robinson and I believe he is innocent, but we need to contact these men who we believe may have been witnesses to the murder.” She handed him the names that Sergio had given her.  
  
“He looked at the list. Yes I know this one and this one, not others. They work for me in my market garden.”  
  
“How can we speak to them?” insisted Jack. “Where is your market garden?”  
  
“In Werribee.”  
  
“How far is that?” Phryne asked.  
  
“About 20 miles,” said Jack, “It would take us more than half an hour.”  
  
“Well the way you drive Inspector,” said Phryne.  
  
“If you go now, I will come with you. I will show you the way. They do not speak very much English. Come, we will go now. Maria!” he called to somewhere further back in the shop.  
  
A middle-aged Italian woman emerged from the depths of the back of the shop, with floured hands, wiping them on her apron. He indicated where he was going and for her to man the shop, which Phryne then translated for Jack.  
  
Maria got a paper bag and filled it with fruit and put it in Phryne’s hands, clasping her hands around Phryne’s as she did so and nodding.  
  
In the car, Phryne and Jack explained as much as they were prepared to say to Ricci Lombardi. They also wanted to know what he knew.  
  
“Yes I know. Sergio mother from the same village as me. We hear about it and the boys they tell me too – Salvatore e Marcello. But they are scared; they don’t want to make any trouble. They say that the boss shot but that Sergio not do it. They treated very badly there anyway. Very low wages. I pay them more than that, so they are pleased with me and they work hard.”  
  
The journey passed unremarkably as they drove out from the city, although Phryne felt Jack was driving somewhat more quickly that she had experienced, through to Werribee where horse drawn vehicles competed with cars for the main road. Ricci Lombardi indicated his garden, and called out to two of the young men working in the fields, and acted as interpreter throughout the ensuing interviews.  
  
“Go ahead Phryne,” said Jack, “They’ll relate better to you than to me.”  
  
“We want to know exactly what you saw the night James Middleton was shot, the night of 12 December. It is important that we help Sergio, but you must tell the truth.”  
  
Ricci Lombardi interpreted questions and answers, with Phryne listening intently for any variation between original and translated. They confirmed that they had been out drinking with Sergio that night and had returned to Five Creeks after the hotels closed at six o’clock. They agreed that they had probably had a lot to drink but they had not consumed so much that they couldn’t recall the events. Sergio had come back with them because they regularly went to each other’s camps. Salvatore and Marcello had been back to Sergio’s digs at Hogan’s Reach too on other occasions. They had gone back to Middleton’s property for no particular reason. They agreed that they were probably making a lot of noise; they liked to sing, to laugh, to enjoy themselves. Mr Middleton had come out to tell them to quieten down and had been offensive: he had called them names and was rude and threatening. When he saw Sergio, he became particularly aggressive and called him a trouble maker and told him to clear off his property; Sergio had argued back at him. This seemed to really aggravate Middleton who then started accusing Sergio of interfering with Isa from the Reach. At this Sergio had reacted saying that she was his girlfriend and that it was none of Middleton’s business, that she wasn’t his girlfriend any more. They accepted that Sergio’s English was poor and that he had raised his voice and sounded angry.  
  
“Did Mr Middleton have a gun with him, a rifle?” asked Jack.  
  
“No” they said simultaneously.  
  
“Did you see who shot Mr Middleton?” Jack asked deliberately.  
  
They looked at each other and their boss told them to answer the question.  
  
“The lady.”  
  
On pressing, they said that she had come out, maybe because of all the noise, but she didn’t have the gun with her. She was listening to the arguments then started talking to her husband but they couldn’t say about what, as they didn’t understand. They believe he indicated to her to go back into the house and that she had become angry too. She returned with the gun, she didn’t shout, she said something to him, but he ignored her, she kept saying something, but he wouldn’t face her. She shot him, then screamed at Sergio that it was all his fault. They panicked and ran away as the noise had drawn others.  
  
“Mr Lombardi, these men will probably be required to give evidence in court. They need to be aware of this. It will help Sergio,” explained Jack.  
  
The two young men nodded.  
  
“Come and drink coffee,” said Ricci Lombardi genially to Jack and Phryne, indicating to the two young men that they should join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) "I need to help Sergio Del Vecchio, and he needs Mr Lombardi's help too. Please think about it, it's important."


	30. Chapter 30

The Brent and Towns law firm was located in the Melbourne city centre in Swanston Street with rooms in a striking skyscraper with an Edwardian facade and modern at its highest point, and despite Phryne’s cynicism of Mr Samuel’s contacts, the business looked impressive.

Jack showed his badge and asked to speak with one of the partners on urgent police business, and in due course they were met by Mr Towns. He was a man with a rather pinched face, a pronounced stoop but tall, and balding. 

He looked at Jack and remarked, “Yes, you do look like a detective.”

“That the women of Melbourne should be so lucky,” said Phryne, “if all detectives looked like DI Robinson.”

Jack’s face gave little away in response to the flattery but a slight tilt of the head, “And this is the Honourable Phryne Fisher, also a detective.”

“Private,” added Phryne handing over her card.

“We are looking into a matter that you firm dealt with about eighteen months ago Mr Towns. The adoption of a baby girl, in association with a colleague of yours in Yarrawonga, a Mr Samuels. The baby’s birth mother’s name was Glover.” 

“I don’t know that I can help you Inspector,” Mr Towns tapped the tips of his fingers of each hand together, that indicated annoyance and impatience.

“Because you don’t choose to, or you were not involved in the matter?”

“It was a private matter and as it was prior to the Adoption of Children Act 1928 becoming law, it can stay a private matter.”

“Unless it is associated with a murder investigation. And obviously we would not be here to intrude on a private matter unless we were obliged to.”

He got up and went to the secretary outside his office and while he spoke to her Phryne whispered “At least we know that we are at the right place, that arrangements were through this firm.”

He returned with a file a short time later, “What do you need to know precisely Inspector?”

“We would like to know the names of the birth parents, the date of birth, and any details in relation to the delivery – where it took place, who the attending obstetrician was, who witnessed the arrangements.” 

“Would you like to know anything Miss Fisher or are you just part of the Inspector’s scenery or perhaps his moral support?” he peered over his glasses.

“I shall hang on your every word Mr Towns, and I assure you if there is anything at all I don’t understand, I shan’t hesitate to ask,” Phryne’s voice gave away nothing of her temper, but the way she swung one of her crossed legs back and forth told Jack that she was angry.

“Well you have already given me the baby’s birth mother yourself, so there’s no need for me to repeat it, and you know my colleague Mr Samuels was a witness, so you need me to tell you the other information.” He paused, enjoying the game he was playing, which neither Jack nor Phryne found at all entertaining. “The birth father is unknown; the date of birth is September 13 1927; the birth was at an address in Carlton with a mid-wife attending; subsequent arrangements were made through officers of this firm. Will that be all Inspector? Miss Fisher?”

“Just the address in Carlton please and the names of the tenants Mr Towns,” said Phryne. “Shall I ask your secretary to write that down?”

“Yes, we shall Miss Fisher.” 

Phryne stood up and went with Mr Towns to his secretary, smiling sweetly all the time.

“Please give Miss Fisher the Carlton address in the file,” he handed the file to his secretary. “You will need to write it down Miss O’Neill, I don’t think Miss Fisher will be able to remember it.”

As soon as he left the room, Phryne turned to her and said, “Miss O’Neill, could I please trouble you for a glass of water. I have a very nasty headache and need to take a powder rather urgently, could I bother you?”

“Certainly Miss,” she obligingly responded, ready to make amends for the manners of her superior. Phryne instantly opened the file and scanned the documents for additional information. She noted the name of a doctor who registered the birth Dr J Andrews and with the secretary returning with her water, scribbled down the address in Carlton.”

Jack walked out of the office and turned and thanked Mr Towns saying that they would be in touch should they need any more information.

“I’m not sure there is anything more I can supply. Good day Miss Fisher, it was so nice to meet you.” He bowed, further emphasising his stoop.

“What an extremely unpleasant man Jack!”

“And what did you discover?”

“Only our Dr Andrews’ involvement.”

“Well done. Now shall you or I tell Collins that we have the address in Carlton?”  
  
“Poor Hugh, I hope he hasn't been tramping the beat to those other addresses all morning.”

“Now, now Miss Fisher. This is an opportunity for Collins, we mustn't let him forget it.”

Back at the station, Hugh was looking very pleased with himself. He had been to the three addresses from the morning, with some success. Whilst he hadn't found the address where Isa had been housed, he had met members of the family. At one particular address, at an uncle of Isabelle’s, one of Mr Glover’s younger brothers, after great protestations of how shocked and disapproving they had been of the entire situation, had revealed that Isabelle regularly visited their house and on some of these visits it was to meet with a gentleman from Yarrawonga. They admitted that these meetings had taken place in secret, and that they were not aware whether other members of the family knew of them. When Collins showed them a photograph of James Middleton they confirmed that it was very like the man Isa referred to as “John”. 

They assumed he was the father of the child, and Collins considered that there was an indication that these visits were welcome as they involved “consideration” of the family’s having him for these visits. The visits lasted perhaps an hour, and had occurred on about half a dozen occasions.

“Well done Collins,” said his superior officer.

“So there may have been lingering or even true attachment between the two,” said Phryne. “She obviously wasn’t just his bit on the side.”

“Or he was a gentleman who wanted to take some kind of responsibility for his actions. Right, shall we go to this final address. Or do you want to go with Collins Miss Fisher; this may need a woman’s touch.”

“Certainly Inspector, always happy to oblige with a touch when required,” and she sashayed out of the station, with a glance and smile at Jack, who, as usual, averted his look with the hint of a self-conscious smile.

Collins was delighted to be out with Miss Fisher, whom he liked very much. To be on secondment with his DI and Miss Fisher made him feel quite chuffed, and he was the envy of the rest of the station, who appreciated their own DI much more than previously.

They hoped that the address in Carlton derived from the solicitor’s office would still be current as Collins had had to be redirected several times that morning. They arrived at the two story terrace in Drummond Street, and knocked.

When the door was opened, Phryne asked for Mrs McDonald, the name from the file and was relieved, to be told that the person of the same name had opened the door. She seemed cautious about allowing a policeman into the house.

“Please Mrs McDonald. No-one is in any trouble at all. We need your help.”  
  
“Come in then, but everyone will be going out soon, to watch the footy, so we don't have too much time.”

“Mrs McDonald, we understand you did a great service to Isabelle Glover some time ago. But we have some questions to ask you. May we sit down?... Mr Glover was your brother?”

“Yes, one of them, my older brother, there are seven of us. He was killed ten years ago in an accident, so we lost touch with May and Isa. Never heard from them for years until Isa’s problem. But I suppose that’s what family is for.”

“Yes indeed,” acknowledged Phryne. “Were you aware of any of the circumstances at all? Who the father was? What arrangements the father made?”

“Not much really. I suppose we spent our time scolding Isa and giving her a bit of a lecture. But she is a sweet girl, very helpful. Everyone liked her. All we knew about the baby’s father was that he was an older man and there was no intention of him marrying her. So we all thought he must have been already married. Poor sod; I think she had hopes.”

Constable Collins obviously felt he needed to ask a question, “Um Mrs McDonald, did the gentleman ever visit here. Would you know him at all?”

“Well funny you should ask, but I think he visited her at my younger brother’s place. It all come out afterwards. He was around a bit over there to see Isa. We thought maybe it was the doctor but it seems not.”

“Which doctor? Did a doctor attend her through her time?” asked Phryne.

“Yes, a Dr Andrews I think was his name. He came a few times, and arranged for the midwife. Came after the baby was born to check Isa and the baby. He helped arrange everything. He lives in the country where Isa and her Mum live. Lovely place they have there. Isa has fallen on her feet I think.”

“So how many times would Dr Andrews have come?”

“Well a couple of times I suppose. Isa was with us about six months and he would have been here two or three times.”

“Did Isa have the baby here?” asked Phryne.

“Yes, we thought it best. Keep things in the family. Not that we are family any more may I say Constable, Miss Fisher.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well it was all very well for us to look after Isa during her time and everything, but do you think I’ve heard from my sister-in-law since? Not a word. Thinks she’s too good for us. She has quite a business I hear and doing well. But any of the boys need some work, she wouldn’t lift a finger for any one of us. She always thought she was too good for our Tom when she married him, same goes for us now. That’s gratitude for you.”

“Do you know anything about the family who adopted the baby girl?” asked Phryne.

“Nothing, nothing at all. All done by the solicitors. Isa only had the baby a day I think and then she was gone. Cried and cried she did, poor mite.”

“Thank you very much for taking the time to talk to us Mrs McDonald. I am sure Isa appreciates all you did for her, even if her mother perhaps doesn’t show it. She was probably much better off than many girls who find themselves in such circumstances. As I won’t be able to join anyone at the football, would you allow me to buy a round of drinks when you get there? And may I say that this is not from the police. Just a thank you, let’s say from Isa.” She took a note from her purse and slipped it into Mrs McDonald’s apron pocket.

“Well Hugh, I think it’s back to the station then Yarrawonga and your fiancée await!”

“Yes Miss, looking forward to it.”


	31. Chapter 31

Back at the station DI Robinson was being his usual fastidious self and writing up his notes. But he also took the time to write another note, and go down to the post office to send it off.

City South, Melbourne  
15 March

Dear Cath  
I have come back to Melbourne for a couple of days, before heading back to the country. I arrived yesterday where your letter dated 10 March was waiting. Tell Nev that I will definitely take him bicycle riding but if Pam wants to come too it will be fine. I am not getting involved in a dispute between the two of them. I am sure she will keep up, especially as she has inherited so much of her mother’s determination! I don’t know when I will have a break long enough, but with Easter at the end of this month, perhaps then. I am certainly overdue some leave.  
  
This case is going well enough. We have made progress and I think we shall soon have sufficient evidence to satisfy the Crown Prosecutor. Few will be happy with the outcome, except of course for the wrongly accused, but for the people of the town acceptance will be difficult. Just as long as I never have to return to that part of the world, as picturesque as it is. I believe my name will be mud by the end of this.  
  
On the personal front, I have been enjoying myself more than usual. A colleague, a private detective, and I have been increasingly working together over the last year or so. We have become closer over recent weeks. I wish you could meet her. She is quite extraordinary, clever, witty, very beautiful, and I care for her. There is probably no long term future in it, as she is very modern in her views, strong-willed and does not want to be tied down to anyone, ever, as far as I can tell. But I am determined to enjoy her company for as long as it lasts, which I do very much. I hope you will not have to console me too soon for a broken heart.  
  
Your affectionate brother,  
Jack


	32. Chapter 32

The three of them, DI Jack Robinson, Constable Hugh Collins and The Hon Phryne Fisher pulled up in front of the DI’s home, for two of them to collect their bags, the third to bask in the anticipation of the trip ahead. He was so excited, he was oblivious to the fact that Miss Fisher was collecting her things from DI Robinson’s home rather that her own.  
  
Inside, Phryne collected the flowers with which she had decorated Jack’s home, and wrapped them up in some newspaper.  
  
“I’ll just pop next door and give these to Mrs Thompson. They are still fresh and seems a shame to throw them out. And you certainly don’t want to come home to dead flowers – very depressing. Do you want me to take her Catherine’s negligée to wash?”

“No, leave it. I’ll…I’ll fix it later. Could you let her know that we are off and ask that she look out for mail and water the garden?”

Phryne went into Mrs Thompson’s and knocked on the door.

“Well good afternoon my dear. Come in.” She took the flowers as Phryne explained her mission. “They are lovely indeed. I shall enjoy putting them in a vase. It will be such a nice memory of your visit.”

As they walked down the hall, Phryne looked again with interest at the myriad of oddments, ornaments and photographs that adorned every surface of her home. Observing her, Mrs Thompson remarked, “All my memories Miss Fisher. Every single one a memory. Holidays, special occasions, gifts from children and grandchildren, things they have made for me. All the paths taken, all the roads travelled. Of course Miss Fisher, there are no memories at all of the paths not taken, of roads not travelled. Just regrets.”

The small lounge was dominated in one corner by a spinning wheel.

“You spin your own wool, your own yarn?” asked Phryne, impressed.  
  
“I do. When the grandchildren come, they love to help and I teach the girls to spin, to knit, and to sew with wool. Look at this, this is being done by my eldest granddaughter. As soon as it is finished, we will have it framed.” She showed her an exquisite piece of wool embroidered on wool, a circle of rosebuds and violets with the name “Moira” within it.  
  
“It is very beautiful, extraordinary. Is that your granddaughter’s name, Moira?”  
  
“That’s me dear. I am Moira. Now, would you like some tea?”  
  
“I’d love to stay but we have such a long drive ahead that we must leave. Mr Robinson is waiting in the car with a constable who is coming with us. It has been so good to meet you Mrs Thompson.”  
  
“Yes, we’ll have tea next time. Good-bye my dear and safe trip. Tell young Mr Robinson I will look out for him.”  
  
In the car, Collins offered her the front passenger seat but Phryne refused. “I am very happy to share the back seat with the two-way radio Hugh and I am sure that you and the inspector have a lot to talk about.” Then added to Jack:  
  
“Jack, did you know that Mrs Thompson’s first name was Moira?”  
  
“Possibly, it rings a bell but I don’t call her anything but Mrs Thompson. Why? It’s a good Irish name isn't it, or Scottish?”  
  
“But in Greek mythology, isn't there a Moira?”  
  
“Yes, a Moira was one of the three Fates who assigned the destiny of every member of humankind, from birth to death. There was the spinner of life's thread, the allotter of life's elements, and the inevitable who determines its end, I seem to recall. Why?”  
  
Phryne shrugged, took out her make-up purse and mirror and applied deep red colour to her lips, the action of so-doing meant she did not have to respond any further. With that she curled herself into the seat and prepared for the trip. DI Robinson and Collins talked about incidents at City South and how they were being handled, then exchanged views on their case, how they would order the interviews back at Yarrawonga, the particular tack they would take with each person. Phryne felt herself drifting away from the sense of the conversation and listening to the tone, timbre and depth of Jack’s voice. And every now and then she would look up at the rear-view mirror to watch his face as he spoke or as he looked at the road, and to see his eyes glance back at her.  
  
_______________  
  
Their arrival at Hogan’s Reach in the late evening was greeted enthusiastically by a trio of admirers, Dot, Isa and Mrs Glover. Mrs Glover fussed and clucked like a mother hen, Dot only just contained her excitement at seeing Hugh, and Isa was happy to meet her friend’s beau, to see the Inspector again and to scrutinize Miss Fisher who she instinctively saw as her rival.  
  
“Now I’ve prepared some supper for all of you, in the dining room. Most of this evening’s diners have left. Not that that would matter of course Inspector, Constable, but just I’m sure you would like some privacy. Come in, come in. Constable, Isa will show you your room. Inspector, Miss Fisher, your usual rooms of course. There’s been nothing to report at all. All quiet Inspector, you’ll be pleased to hear,” she smiled, keeping her hands on her ample middle.  
  
“Goodness me, we have only been away a day or two,” cried Phryne at the scene, “Imagine if it had been a week!”  
  
“All went well in the capital?” she blithered on, “Many meetings?”  
  
“We had some very productive meetings Mrs Glover, thank you; and thank you for looking after us all. It must have made you very busy this evening.”  
  
“Not at all, not at all. Whenever you are all ready. Isa will attend to you, won’t you Isa?” she flapped her tea towel at her daughter.  
  
At supper Jack indicated that the first interview needed to be with Isa and that he would conduct it with Miss Fisher.  
  
“It would be best if Miss Fisher were present. Miss Fisher, were you planning to pick up Mr Butler tomorrow? If it were convenient, I’d suggest that perhaps Collins could take my car, and take Miss Williams with him; that would ensure Miss Williams was not compromised by the things we have to raise with Isa.” And turning to Dot he said, “Miss Williams, you do not have to feel your confidences have been breached. We have plenty of information from our interviews in Melbourne to ensure that anything Isa told you directly will not be raised. But I think it would be better if you were not around.”  
  
“What have you discovered? What did you find out about the baby?” asked Dot. But with Isa’s focused service to them in the dining room, it wasn’t sensible to give any further information.  
  
“I‘ll tell you later Dotty,” said Hugh, “I’ll fill you in.” To this both Jack and Phryne exchanged glances which Hugh mistook, “That is sir, I wouldn’t breach any police protocols at all, sir. Of course not. Just general information.”  
  
“It’s all right Collins. I know you always keep police intelligence strictly confidential,” responded his inspector, leaving Hugh not knowing whether he had his DI’s confidence or not.  
  
“So Dotty, how have you been spending your days? What have you been doing? Do you like the country?”  
  
“Yes, I’ve been busy helping Isa with her chores, mainly mending. Then because she finishes early, we have been on walks around the gardens and into town. I like the country, but I will be very happy to return to St Kilda. I like the city better I think.”  
  
After supper, the group parted company, Dot and Hugh to a sitting room to catch up on missed days, and both the inspector and Miss Fisher excused themselves and wished others a good night.  
  
“I do hope Inspector, that your Constable knows how to behave,” smiled Phryne as they went upstairs arm in arm.  
  
“Well I’m afraid my responsibilities in terms of education don’t extend too far beyond the police roster Miss Fisher. But I do believe that young Hugh is as good a gentleman as Miss Williams is a good Catholic.”


	33. Chapter 33

Jack was lying on his side, resting on one elbow, gently running his finger down her cheek, down her neck, then down the other cheek.  
  
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re not staying and that you’re about to leave,” came a sleepy voice.  
  
“Yes. Sorry. I don’t want to. You know I’d much rather stay.”  
  
“It was very nice to wake up with you yesterday morning, Jack Robinson.”  
  
He murmured an agreement.  
  
“I mean, really really nice. It’s much better when you stay.”  
  
“So you’re saying tonight was no good Miss Fisher, and hoping that, were I to stay, that it might improve in the morning? And I am to blame?”  
  
She opened one eye, never sure when that serious voice was in fact serious, or playful, or teasing, or ironic. She caught the slightest tilt of his head, the faintest sparkle in his eyes, so picked up a pillow and threw it at him. He defended his head, where it was aimed and grabbed it:  
  
“Be very careful, I am a champion pillow fighter. I won’t be beaten.”  
  
That was it, she opened both eyes wide, smiled indulgently, took another pillow, got to her knees and prepared for battle, but she could not land a single hit. He fended off her pillow and managed to direct his own so skilfully, that she was buffeted and batted all over the bed. She was screaming with enjoyment and Jack chuckled and laughed at their endeavours, until she declared herself beaten.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh Jack.”  
  
“I don’t think I have, not for a long time.”


	34. Chapter 34

Hugh and Dot set off after breakfast for their trip to Bundalong. Jack left Phryne in the library and made his way to Mrs Glover’s parlour.  
  
“Oh good morning Inspector,” beamed Mrs Glover.  
  
“Mrs Glover, I need to speak with Isa in private. Would you allow her some time to come and see me in the library now please?”  
  
“Of course, Inspector,” she positively radiated warmth and exuberance. “But use this parlour. It is much more private. Oh goodness, how lovely. I’ll go and get her.”  
  
“Mrs Glover it is on a serious matter so it will need to be in the library.”  
  
“Yes, of course this is serious Inspector. I quite understand,” she flapped.  
  
“Ah I don’t think you do Mrs Glover. It is a serious,” he paused for emphasis, “police matter and Miss Fisher will be present. Isa isn’t in any trouble at all. But we think she can help us with our inquiries.”  
  
Her face fell. “Right well, of course, I’ll send her up to you right away.”  
  
Isa came in looking nervous and upset. Jack immediately attempted to make her feel at ease.  
  
“Isa, we need to ask you about some of the people involved in the case we are investigating. People you know. We think you can help us.” He spoke so gently, she simply nodded as if she knew the time had come. He added, “Sometimes it feels right to get things off your chest.” She nodded again. “You might feel uncomfortable answering some of the questions, and if that is the case, you must simply tell us. Just to start, can you tell us about your relationship with James Middleton?”  
  
“Well, he was very kind to me. He liked me too.”  
  
“When did he start being nice to you, particularly nice? Do you remember?”  
  
“When I was about sixteen. He was one of the regulars here, so I used to always see him in the dining room. He would always smile and say hello and give me tips.”  
  
Jack then looked to Phryne to continue:  
  
“And when did he become friendlier than that?”  
  
“I used to babysit for him and Mrs Middleton sometimes, and he would drive me home afterwards. He would be very friendly and would kiss me goodnight.”  
  
“Did you mind that he kissed you?”  
  
“No, it was nice. He made me feel special.”  
  
“How was that? How did he make you feel special?” she persisted.  
  
“He told me I was beautiful and that he really liked me.”  
  
“And when did things go beyond kissing Isa?” Phryne spoke kindly too.  
  
“Well one night I was babysitting because Mrs Middleton was away and Mr Middleton was out. When he came home that night, he said I could stay in one of the spare rooms and he would take me home the next day. He came into my room that night. That was the first time. After that he would arrange to see me in different places or at his place if Mrs Middleton was away.”  
  
“How often would you see him?”  
  
“It depended really. Sometimes he was busy or I couldn’t get away. Although even when I was really busy here, I would always try and go to see him if he wanted to see me. He said he really loved me and wanted to be with me.”  
  
“And what happened when you found that you were expecting a baby? Did you realise you were having a baby or was it your mother?”  
  
Isa looked surprised, “Yes it was Mum. She worked it out. She knew I was late even though I hadn’t told her.”  
  
“And what did you tell James Middleton?”  
  
“I told him that we were having a baby. I thought he would be pleased because he said he really loved me. He said he was sorry and that he would sort things out and I wasn’t to worry, that everything would be taken care of.”  
  
“Did you think that he might do something else for you Isa? Did you think he might want to be a father to your baby?”  
  
“I don’t really know what I thought he would do. I suppose I thought that he would divorce his wife and marry me. He didn’t love her at all. He said so. He said that I made him feel special.”  
  
Jack interrupted, “And were there people from around here that James Middleton said would help take care of things?”  
  
“Well I think that Mr Middleton asked Dr Andrews because he was a doctor and Mr Samuels too. And Mr Middleton of course met with my mother. I think that Mr Middleton suggested I stay with relatives in Melbourne.”  
  
Phryne then continued, “And did Mr Middleton visit you in Melbourne when you were there with your relatives?”  
  
“Yes a few times. Not at my aunt’s because she didn’t really approve of what had happened. But he used to visit me when I was at an uncle’s.”  
  
“Why did he visit you? Do you know?”  
  
Isa looked surprised. “Well because he really loved me and wanted to see me.”  
  
Jack then asked, “And what about Dr Andrews? Did he look after you too when you were in Melbourne?”  
  
“Yes he came a couple of times to check up on me, and straight after I had the baby. It was a little girl.” She turned to Phryne as she said this.  
  
“And why do you think that Dr Andrews and Mr Samuels helped you? Are they still friendly and helpful?” asked Jack.  
  
“Well I thought they liked me too and that’s why they helped. But since then, since I had the baby, they haven’t been so friendly. I still see them of course when they come here but they more or less ignore me.”  
  
“After you had the baby and came back home, how were things with James Middleton? Did he treat you differently or were things just as they were?” Phryne continued.  
  
“Well they changed a bit. Partly because Mum was very strict about me going out. She didn’t let me go out very much at all. And I didn’t go and babysit for the Middletons anymore. You remember Miss Fisher that you asked me to go to Five Creeks with you? Well Mrs Middleton found out about everything and she was very angry. She came here and had an argument with my mother about me. So I never went to the property again and she doesn’t come here.”  
  
“Isa, do you think that anyone else at Five Creeks knew about you and Mr Middleton? Did anyone else help arrange meetings for example?”  
  
“I am not sure. I don’t know. James wanted it to be our secret.”  
  
Jack continued, “Just a few more questions Isa. I know this must be very difficult to talk about these things. Can you tell us about you and Sergio? You told me that you saw a side to him that others didn’t.”  
  
“He was always so social and out-going. He was staying here so I used to see him every day. I guess we became close. But not as close as I was with James, I mean we didn’t do the thing that made me pregnant.”  
  
“And how did James Middleton know about you and Sergio?”  
  
“I don’t really know. I suppose I may have told Sergio about James. Well I suppose I did actually. Sergio thought that James was unfair to me and used me. He said men like James Middleton never leave their wives, even if they are unhappy, they prefer to be dishonest in their marriage and dishonest with their lovers.” Phryne looked over at Jack and noted a tightening of the jaw line. “I think he may have said something to James in one of their arguments and James would have been angry. Sergio would do that kind of thing when he got worked up; he would blurt things out. And James was very aware of his standing in the community; he didn’t like Sergio saying those things that were better kept quiet.”  
  
“Just one more thing Isa,” said Jack, “Do you know anything at all about the shooting? Anything?”  
  
She shook her head, “I know Sergio would not have shot James. He just wouldn’t. He did not respect him, but he would not have shot him. I don’t know why I know, but I do.”  
  
“Thank you Isa. You really have been very helpful. But it is important that you keep this conversation confidential. Can you do that?” asked Jack.  
  
Isa nodded. Both the Inspector and Miss Fisher had been so kind, she felt overwhelmed and relieved and started to cry.  
  
“Come on Isa,” said Phryne, “Let’s see if Miss Williams is back and you can have a nice cup of tea. I will make sure that your mother knows you need a bit of time off.”

That afternoon, Jack knew he and Collins had several more interviews: one with the local police, one with Dr Andrews and another with Mr Samuels. He was still unsure how to confront Alice Middleton as they had no evidence against her, apart from the testimony of Sergio and those who would be seen as his allies. He would need more than that.  
  
They arrived at the police station having ascertained DI Humphreys’ availability, who sighed on their entrance to his office. Jack introduced his constable then cut straight to the chase.  
  
“DI Humphreys, you would be aware by now, since my meeting in Russell Street yesterday, that police procedures in the investigation of the Middleton murder are officially under review and there will be an internal investigation of all aspects of these. There are concerns that protocols and procedures were not followed and that as a result they may be found to have been prejudicial in the outcome of the criminal proceedings.” As he was given no reaction at all, Jack continued, “Are you aware of this?”  
  
“Yes I am aware DI Robinson, and I believe we have you to thank for it. You just couldn’t leave things alone, could you? We got the result, and that’s what counts.”  
  
“DI Humphreys, you have an opportunity now to let us know if there is anything at all that may be useful in the reconsideration of the case. Your cooperation at this point would be advantageous in any deliberations on your position as part of the internal review.”  
  
DI Humphreys let out a long breath, averted his gaze, then turned to his counterpart looking a little more resigned.  
  
“Look, we look after each other around here. I got the call at home from Andrews who said there’d been an accident. There was nothing we could do as James was dead. The quieter we kept things the better. The last thing we needed was a whole lot of police descending on a volatile camp. Who knows what might have happened? In retrospect that was probably wrong.”  
  
“And the fabric from Sergio Del Vecchio’s shirt, used as evidence?” Jack asked.  
  
“Well that may have been some over-enthusiasm on the part of one of my officers.”  
  
“And the prints on the gun?”  
  
“There may have been some contamination in the course of interrogating the prime suspect.”  
  
“Thank you DI Humphreys. You have already been officially cautioned in relation to any further involvement by you or any other officers of this station in relation to the case. That includes any contact with witnesses.”  
  
“Yes I am aware. I do hope we never meet again DI Robinson.”


	35. Chapter 35

Dr Andrews had been asked to come to the library for his Interview, DI Robinson determining that, for what he hoped would be the formal end to proceedings, would take place on his territory.  
  
Mrs Glover fluttered around like a butterfly offering refreshments and favours, Jack steadfastly knocking back each request, and firmly saying he needed to be left to conduct his meetings in private.  
  
“Hmmm, well don’t know what that woman is doing there if it’s privacy he wants. Poking her nose in where it’s not wanted,” she muttered to herself. “Oh good afternoon Miss Fisher. Don’t you look lovely, just lovely!” she beamed sycophantically as their paths crossed.  
  
“Dr Andrews,” Jack commenced, “Thank you for making the time to meet again. This is Constable Collins who will be taking notes of this interview, and The Hon Phryne Fisher you will recall meeting here last week. She is assisting the police with this inquiry.”  
  
“Miss Fisher, good afternoon, how nice to see you again. Really Inspector, I doubt very much there is any more I can tell you. We had such a good chat the other day. And of course the practice is very busy, I can ill-afford the time.”  
  
“We appreciate the time you have given up, but there are one or two matters that I’d like to raise. Could you tell us about your involvement with Isabelle Glover’s confinement and the birth of her baby?”  
  
Dr Andrews looked completely flummoxed. “Well, I must say, well, of course, as a doctor I provided the care I am obliged to provide to any patient in my care. My concern, and of course it is my oath to do so, is give her care as a patient and I did so. I don’t judge Inspector, Miss Fisher, don’t judge at all, not her foolishness, not her lack of modesty or decency, not her complete disregard for propriety, none of that.”  
  
“Nor that of the baby’s father Dr Andrews,” added Phryne.  
  
“When we last spoke, you said that the relationship between Mr and Mrs Middleton was a strong one, built on mutual love. Given that James Middleton fathered Isabelle Glover’s baby, do you still contend that to have been the case?”  
  
He shifted in his seat, looked at both the Inspector and his fellow interrogator and said, “Look Inspector, these things happen. You’re a man, you understand these things; temptation put in your way; young girls infatuated with status and power, throw themselves at you. We are only human after all.” He nodded at Jack and looked pompously at Phryne as if blaming her for the evil temptation that was all women.  
  
“I don’t think I have ever been in that position Dr Andrews, no. So how would you describe the relationship between Mr and Mrs Middleton?”  
  
“It was strong, despite the … er incident.”  
  
“At our previous meeting, you didn’t mention that you actually rang DI Humphreys at home on the evening of the murder. You said you rang the police. Why did you do that rather than the police station?”  
  
“I happened to have DI Humphreys’ number on me. My concern was for Alice at the time, so I acted as quickly as I could and DI Humphreys’ number was to hand, not the local police station. I knew Humphreys would get things sorted.”  
  
“What do you mean by that, “get it sorted”,” queried Phryne. “What sorting did you expect him to provide?”  
  
“Nothing untoward, if that’s what you’re suggesting Miss Fisher.”  
  
“You said you needed to give Alice Middleton some medication for her hysteria. Can you tell me what kind of medication that was?”  
  
“I gave her a diazepam.”  
  
“Have you prescribed that for her in the past?”  
  
“I think we may be straying into the realm of doctor-patient confidentiality.”  
  
“We are not in court Dr Andrews, not yet.”  
  
“Dr Andrews,” intercepted Phryne, “How would you, as a family friend, describe the impact of James Middleton’s indiscretion on their marriage? After all, there were a number of people who knew about it, weren’t there? You, Mr Samuels, presumably others in your circle as well, Alice Middleton obviously found out.”  
  
“Strong marriages can survive these things. Theirs was a strong marriage.”  
  
Phryne persisted, “Even if it meant Alice Middleton refused to come here, to the Reach, where a lot of social functions take place? James Middleton continued to come, his enthusiasm wasn’t curbed.”  
  
“I am sure there may have been some friction, that’s only natural. But James had no intention of anything coming of the relationship, if you can even call it that, a brief affair. Alice would have got over it in time. We are made of sterner stuff here in the country.” He attempted a laugh that no-one joined in, except for Hugh giving a wide smile then immediately replacing it with seriousness.  
  
“Can you recall anything at all that Alice Middleton said to you that night in relation to her finding the body of her husband – whether in the telephone call to you or the conversation at her home, prior to your sedating her.”  
  
“I don’t recall any words that she said. I only recall her extreme anxiety, which was in my professional view, bordering on hysteria.”  
  
“From a personal viewpoint. As a friend of both the deceased and Alice Middleton. Anything at all.” DI Robinson pressed.  
  
“Well Alice was certainly blaming someone, and we know who that was, it was that young Italian.”  
  
“The words, if you could try and recall any of the words she used, anything she said.”  
  
“Well don’t quote me but it was words such as “you didn't or he couldn’t leave us alone.” Something to that effect.”  
  
“Thank you Dr Andrews.” And Collins showed him out.  
  
Jack started pacing up and down, “What is it Jack?”  
  
“Collins, look up the notes for the interview with the property manager at Five Creeks, Jo Pike. What did he say that he recalled Alice Middleton saying?”  
  
Collins went tediously through all the notes of interviews. “Jo Pike said sir, that she had said something like “Why couldn’t you just leave him alone?”, so that’s quite similar isn’t it?”  
  
Phryne interrupted, “But what if she were saying to her dead husband, “Why couldn’t you leave her alone?” And she’s referring to Isa.”  
  
“Exactly,” said Jack. “She comes out, overhears an argument between Sergio and Middleton, where Middleton warns him off Isa, Alice Middleton realises he still carries a torch for Isa Glover.”  
  
Phryne completed his sentence, “and after all that she has been through, the hurt, the humiliation, the keeping up of appearances, the stoic commitment to land and entitlement, she loses it.”  
  
“Now Miss Fisher, I will need all your woman’s intuition at the interview with Alice Middleton. When is it Collins?”  
  
“It’s in about an hour sir.”  
  
“Sadly I don’t think Alice Middleton and I are on the same wavelength. She feels I am not in tune with her views of the world order.”  
  
“Really? So much the better,” said Jack with an ironic raising of one eyebrow, “Although I do find that hard to believe. Now by my judgement we have time for some tea on the veranda. Collins, if you finish typing up those notes, you may find you have a few minutes to flirt with your fiancée.”  
  
“Of course sir, I mean of course not sir,” Hugh reddened.  
  
“I think you may Collins, and you might even find you enjoy it.”  
  
Jack is in good humour, Phryne mused, aware of a significant shift in his mood as he sensed the case nearing its conclusion. At the same time she also sensed a mild discontent stirring within her. Would that mean something else would conclude too?


	36. Chapter 36

Mr Samuels accompanied Alice Middleton to her interview with the DI. Jack was not surprised. He had insisted that the meeting take place in the library at Hogan’s Reach although he was aware of Alice Middleton’s aversion to the location. He had ensured that Isabelle Glover remained well out of sight.  
  
It was Jack’s first meeting with Alice Middleton, so he introduced himself and Constable Collins, and referred to Miss Fisher: “You know The Hon Phryne Fisher of course and Mr Samuels, thank you very much for accompanying Mrs Middleton.”  
  
“Can I ask why Miss Fisher is present? She has already inveigled herself into my home, I should like to know her purpose at this interview” asked Alice Middleton, looking directly at DI Robinson and avoiding any acknowledgement of Phryne’s presence.  
  
“Miss Fisher is assisting the police Mrs Middleton. She has a particular knowledge of aspects of the case,” said Jack obliquely.  
  
“I’d like it recorded that Mrs Middleton objects,” said Mr Samuels.  
  
“It will be recorded Mr Samuels but can I say that we are simply asking Mrs Middleton some questions and that she has come voluntarily. Mrs Middleton, we need to ask you about the circumstances leading up to and the night of Mr Middleton’s death. I know this must be very difficult for you and I understand that you had not been interviewed by police during the initial investigation. Mr Samuels you are here as a support person for Mrs Middleton, not to answer for her.”  
  
“That is correct Inspector; I wasn’t able to be interviewed at the time of James’ death.”  
  
“Why was that?” Jack asked quietly, “I know the circumstances would have been traumatic, but your testimony would have been unique.”  
  
“I was not in a state to do so. I was quite hysterical,” she said simply and without emotion.  
  
“Are you prone to bouts of hysteria? Is this something for which you need to be regularly treated?” asked Phryne, less supportive in her tone than the DI.  
  
Mrs Middleton looked at her for the first time, “No I am not.”  
  
“Can I go back prior to the shooting,” continued Jack, “You were aware of the relationship between your husband and Isabelle Glover.”  
  
“Yes, I was.”  
  
“How long had you been aware of the relationship?”  
  
“Women are able to sense these things Inspector. And Isabelle Glover wasn’t shy in showing her interest in my husband. She used to come to our house to babysit the children. Her designs on an eminent member of the community were obvious.”  
  
“So did you say anything to him?” asked Phryne, “Did you confront him over the matter?”  
  
“I really don’t know what business this is of yours Miss Fisher. You seem to delight in prying into other people’s affairs, their misfortunes.”  
  
“Please answer Miss Fisher’s question Mrs Middleton.”  
  
“Yes, I confronted him. I asked him to finish with her.”  
  
“When was this?” asked Phryne, “How early on in the relationship?”  
  
Mrs Middleton was becoming rattled, “It was a couple of years’ ago, at the beginning.”  
  
“But he didn’t finish it, did he?” continued Phryne. “He continued the relationship and it became more intimate. That must have irked you.”  
  
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything apart from meddling in matters that are private, personal and most distressing.”  
  
“Please continue Mrs Middleton. We believe this is relevant,” said Jack and looked over at Phryne.  
  
“Mrs Middleton, you asked your husband to stop seeing Isabelle Glover but he continued the affair. It cannot be denied because he fathered a child to Isabelle Glover. You must have felt betrayed. Did you?”  
  
“Strong marriages can withstand ups and downs. Our marriage was strong because it was built on the foundations of generations of landowners, of connections as well as mutual respect.”  
  
“Well there was hardly respect for you in his brazen flaunting of his marriage vows and it could not have been built on love.”  
  
“What would you know Miss Fisher?” she spat out the words, her calm, impassive, controlled speech had gone, her eyes flashed, she leaned forward in her seat. Mr Samuels put a cautionary hand on her arm and she shook it free. “I know about you and your ways. Don’t think I or anyone else here is ignorant of who you are, where you are from and how you live your life. Don’t think you can come here and talk to me about immorality and disrespect when you flaunt your depravity wantonly, your permissiveness, your disregard for the very tenets that hold our society together. Love, you dare to question my marriage and love?”  
  
Phryne saw that Jack was about to intervene but sent him a firm look that she wished to continue. She was completely unfazed by the personal attack, “I may not live my life as you wish to live yours, but I do so without reference to those so completely unconnected with it and certainly without harm to the happiness of others’ marriages.” She paused, “Mrs Middleton, your husband continued his infatuation with Isabelle Glover, despite your request for him to end the affair. He continued and he fathered her child. He looked to her welfare involving Dr Andrews and Mr Samuels here in arranging the adoption. You were humiliated as not only did everyone know, the town’s hierarchy supported his deception. Then on 12 December, what happened?”  
  
“Why don’t you tell us Miss Fisher?” she said through clenched teeth.  
  
“You heard your husband arguing with Sergio Del Vecchio and you heard Isa’s name. You went out to investigate. Your husband was telling Sergio Del Vecchio to keep away from Isabelle Glover wasn’t he?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“He saw you and told you to go back to the house. He treated you like a child, dismissing you back to the house, and after all that you had been through, the affair, the child, the adoption, the rumours and gossip and patronising sympathy from town’s folk, after all this the final humiliation, that he still, he still held a candle for her. That he was prepared to warn off an Italian migrant itinerant worker from Isabelle Glover. You did go back to the house but returned with his rifle and shot him, because he could not leave her alone.”  
  
“Why did you call Dr Andrews Mrs Middleton?” Jack pressed.  
  
Mr Samuels intercepted, “Alice don’t say anything more please.”  
  
She looked at him blankly and continued, “I needed someone to help. He is a friend of the family. I knew he would come. He helped with the baby, now he had to help me. That’s what we do here. And he did. It was all sorted.”


	37. Chapter 37

Following the interview with Alice Middleton Jack had a lot to do, with Collins as his personal aide-de-camp. Phryne on the other hand had very little so was at a loose end.  
  
“Do you mind if I stay in here and read? I really don’t feel like doing anything else,” she asked, making her way over to the sofa by the window.  
  
“Of course not, why would I?” he wandered over to the sofa and sat beside her, “Are you alright? Alice Middleton said some cruel things in the heat of the moment.”  
  
“It’s fine Jack. I am used to it and country society does tend to be a microcosm of conservative opinion. She resents me because I am what she and others of her kind know, deep down, they should be. They are lucky – they have privilege and advantage so they have choices, but don’t care to exercise them. They are part of a society that condemns the behaviour of Isabelle Glover and condones that of James Middleton yet for the very same act. Alice Middleton had a choice, she could have left him, but she didn’t. She was too caught up in what was right and proper for one group to see that she was compromising the very doctrines she espoused.”  
  
“She did then take on the whole of society in killing her husband, rather than either putting up with his conduct or leaving him ...Now, it’s getting late shall I arrange for some sherry? What are you going to read?”  
  
“Could you choose me something? A sherry would be appropriate I think – I shall go and order it from the dreaded Mrs Glover and then I’ll let you and Hugh get on with your work.”  
  
Jack looked through the shelves of the library he had become quite familiar with and chose a volume on Classical Greek mythology, remembering the conversation in the car, and left it on the side table beside the sofa. He returned to his desk as Phryne returned with the glasses and decanter, and poured.  
  
“You too Collins if you wish. Just this once and don’t expect it to ever happen at the station.”  
  
“Thank you sir, Miss Fisher, cheers,” and he returned to the typewriter.  
  
Phryne smiled when she saw what Jack had chosen for her and started to read through the leather-bound illustrated work. Every now and then she would stop to look at Jack as he worked. She looked at his hands as he held the telephone ear piece and made arrangements for the cautioning and charging of Alice Middleton, his hands as he wrote, as he drafted telegraphs for Russell Street, as he edited and corrected the typed notes Hugh brought him, his hand on Collins shoulder as he went over to him with the corrections, his hand that seemed too big for the sherry glass. She thought of his hands on her, how firm they felt when he massaged her, how strongly he had held her that dark night of the soul, how delicately he had touched her the next morning, how he let his fingers stroke her face. She sighed subconsciously as she considered what had happened. She had always respected and admired him, and at this moment she knew she loved him. What now?  
  
“Thank you Collins, I think we are finished for now. Make sure these telegraphs go to the post office first thing in the morning, then we should be able to head back to Melbourne later tomorrow after we arrange for Alice Middleton to be at to the police station. That’s all for this evening. I’ll see you at dinner.”  
  
“Yes sir. Do you mind if Dotty and I go out, rather than having dinner here?”  
  
“Of course not, enjoy yourself Collins. Just make sure you are up bright and early for those despatches. Miss Fisher, I’ll go down and let Mrs Glover know our arrangements. Will you be staying beyond tonight?” He sounded quite business-like.  
  
“No, we will leave tomorrow as well. There is nothing to keep us here.”  
  
Phryne suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Does this mean that this is over, do we go back to where we were before, the long gaps, the waiting, the not knowing? But she knew so much more about him, about his family, about his home – the home that he said he would find hard to give up. What she was sure of was that she did not want to go back to the way it was before.  
  
Jack went down to speak to Mrs Glover and knew that he would also need to tell her about Isa’s involvement in the case and that she would be required as a witness in court.  
  
“Good evening Mrs Glover, could I have a word please? Perhaps in your parlour.”  
  
She was a woman who, on occasions such as this, did not allow common sense to cloud her judgement and immediately began fussing and exclaiming in delight. Jack was quick to reassure her that he had some matters of a business nature to discuss. He told her that they would be leaving the next day then went on to outline what they knew of Isa’s situation and how it had an impact on the case, that she would undoubtedly be required to give evidence in court and how helpful she had been.  
  
“I know that this will revive be some difficult memories for you in relation to your daughter and what happened, but her evidence will be vital in resolving this case in the courts. It is not for us to judge the outcome, that is for the courts to decide. You need to remember how important that is Mrs Glover.”  
  
“I had such hopes for you and Isa Inspector. I thought you were made for each other, and you seemed to like my girl I think,” she blurted out, “and now all this has put you off.”  
  
Jack was his most diplomatic in response, “It has not changed my thinking one bit. She is charming, honest and very caring and a great credit to you. I am not free, as you might perhaps think, so naturally my thoughts would never allow me to consider her as anything other than an admirable acquaintance. Good evening Mrs Glover.”  
  
“Oww,” Mrs Glover sniffed and blubbered into her handkerchief after he left.


	38. Chapter 38

Jack returned to the library to find Phryne still sitting on the sofa, reading the book by the light of a lamp, sipping on her sherry. He poured himself another glass, topped up hers and sat down next to her. She closed the book and they touched glasses.  
  
“So, Miss Fisher. I think this may well have been the position we found ourselves in when it all started, wasn’t it, in this library, on this sofa?”  
  
“I think it was whiskey.”  
  
He smiled, “Yes it was. It was after dinner too.”  
  
“Why did you write me that letter?”  
  
“Because I missed you… Why did you come?”  
  
“Because I missed you too.”  
  
He took her hand and kissed it, “Now are you going to explain to me your reference to Classical Greek mythology and my neighbour?”  
  
“I shall try, but bear with me as you know I am not very good at this kind of thing. When I went to the shop with Mrs Thompson she spoke to me about your needing looking after, that you needed someone to come home to, and that she didn’t want you to be lonely in that house as your father had been. She just assumed that I was to look after you. I did explain that I had my own home, that we were friends, but she just seemed to ignore that. There she was again next morning, sweeping the path when we left. She didn't seem to bat an eyelid that we had spent the night together. It was almost as if she expected it to happen.  
  
“When I called in yesterday (was it only yesterday?) to give her the flowers, she told me how important all her knickknacks were to her memories of happy times. She also told me that I needed to take the paths and roads offered to me, ones that were less safe, otherwise I would live to regret it.  
  
“Then in her lounge room was this rather imposing spinning wheel and she showed me some embroidery she was helping her granddaughter with, using wool they had spun. It was a circle of flowers with her name in it, Moira. She said, “That’s me. I am Moira” as if I needed to take heed of that.”  
  
“Hmmm, go on,” said Jack, fixing his eyes on every feature of her face, “Greek Mythology now please.”  
  
“Well you said in the car that a Moira was one of three Fates, that the three together determine the destiny of every man, and here they are.” She opened the book at a particular page. “Look at this beautiful 15th century tapestry of the three Moirai. As you said, they have particular roles, one, the spinner, spins the thread of life, one, the allotter, measures the thread and the third, the inevitable, cuts life’s thread.”  
  
Phryne drew a very deep breath, “I thought that perhaps Mrs Thompson was telling me something. “That is me, I am Moira” in other words, “I am destiny”, that I should take the roads I wouldn't normally take or I shall regret it, that I should be there for you, to… to look after you.”  
  
Jack didn’t respond straight away, “In Plato’s Republic, the three Moirai sing with the Sirens, the spinner sings the things that are, the things of the present.”  
  
Both sat in silence, the Jack spoke, “I am sending some telegraphs to Russell Street tomorrow morning. One of them is to request some leave for as soon as possible after I get back.”  
  
“Leave? Where are you going? Why?’ Phryne looked shocked. “I thought, I thought we had just begun to get to know one another.” She urgently wished she hadn't mentioned the whole destiny thing.  
  
“I am going to Sydney, to stay with Cath. I said I'd try and go up there at Easter time and that’s only a couple of weeks away. That would work well and give me a break.”  
  
Phryne tried desperately not to look as she felt, miserable.  
  
“Come with me Phryne.”  
  
“What would you sister say?”  
  
“She is completely unflappable. She would approve.”  
  
Phryne reverted immediately to form, “But we have to take the Hispano Suiza.”  
  
“Now that would be a road less travelled for me.”

  

The End  


(or the beginning?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well final chapter of this particular iteration of the Phryne/Jack story. Thank you to all who have been so encouraging about it. It was a complete labour of love. I am a devotee of the TV series (more than the books), Jack in particular, but I love Phryne too and the roles the actors play as these characters. They belong together, his yin to her yang etc. Just need Phryne to give up those good looking but fatuous bed fellows esp that insipid, vapid personality MINUS Lin Chung - he needs to be put on a v slow boat to China or HK, which ever is further. Jack is the eye candy, the intellect, the protector, the partner she needs. Well that's my view!


End file.
